Waylon Smithers: A Life
by HarleenQuinn
Summary: Mr. Burns forces Smithers to see a therapist about his depression, and as Smithers recollects important moments throughout his childhood, teen years, and young adulthood, he must face the internal and external conflicts that made him who he is. Ch. 19 up!
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the Simpsons characters.

Please read and review! Both constructive criticism and praise are very greatly appreciated. Thank you!

Waylon Smithers: A Life

For one of the few times in my life, I truly felt resentful of my boss and best friend, Mr. Burns. Resentment was not commonly a tenant in my heart, at least regarding this particular man. Because resentment and unconditional love were at two opposite ends of the spectrum of emotions, and I felt resentment's polar opposite towards Mr. Burns at almost all times. Usually I listen to Mr. Burns with deep interest, talk to him with unflinching affection, and accolade his ideas with infinite plaudits, but this particular idea I was not ready to support. This idea I would detest and protest and resent. But of course, this idea was one that I would go along with anyway, because Mr. Burns insisted and I wasn't feeling strong enough to defy him.

Personally, I thought the entire notion was absurd. I was one of the most stable people living in Springfield, and certainly more stable than Mr. Burns himself. I didn't need therapy. I wasn't insane. Just in love. Although now thinking about it, perhaps Mr. Burns was right. Perhaps insanity and love were synonymous. Even so, I didn't need some preachy waif in a white coat to try and cure me. There was no cure for love, and I knew that.

Mr. Burns thought I was depressed. And he thought that this depression had been the cause of a severe decline in the competency of my work, and I suppose he was right. I just hadn't felt the need to be perfect anymore, because my past perfection only reaped the rewards of Mr. Burns' friendship. And lately, I wasn't content with our friendship anymore. Lately, I desperately, furiously needed love. Romantic love. Good, old-fashioned, wine-and-roses, hot tubs-and-teddy bears love. And lately, that dream seemed more distant than ever with the object of my long-harbored affections.

Maybe I was depressed, but I could have dealt with it on my own. No one had helped me when I was a clinically depressed youth, and no one could help me now. It had always been me, myself, and I. Well, except for Mr. Burns. Mr. Burns, who changed my life, who brought me happiness, and who now brought me here, to a therapist.

I sighed and took another puff from my cigarette. Why didn't he believe me when I told him I was fine? How did he know I was lying? Did he see it in my eyes? Did he hear it in my voice? Did he detect it in my touch? Or was it merely my performance at work that hinted at my depression? Was it care for me or care for himself that sent me here? God, how I wished I knew the answers to these and innumerable other questions that plagued my mind without mercy.

"Excuse me, sir. There is no smoking inside the waiting room," said the receptionist.

I looked up at her with tired eyes. "Fine. I'll go put it out." I was relieved to be able to leave that god-abdicated waiting room. I finished my cigarette quickly, put it out, and contemplated walking back in or not. I could effortlessly leave and lie to Mr. Burns, telling him that my sessions were going well, pretending to be happy…it would all be simple. I was a master at that kind of stuff. But then I knew why I couldn't do that. Because despite my resentment, I loved Mr. Burns. That would never change. It was the one constant in my warped, disheveled life. And it was the one thing that made me walk into the room, head held high, heart on the ground, waiting for my first appointment with the internal war within myself.

----------

"Waylon Smithers?" called the receptionist. "Dr. Smith will see you now."

I looked up from my magazine and tossed it aside. "Thank you," I said quietly as I walked into Dr. Smith's office, knowing a dozen pairs of eyes were watching me intently from the waiting room. I entered the office and immediately took in my surroundings. _This office is simply beautiful_, I thought upon first glance. I instantaneously noticed the fabulous artwork that was hung on the walls, the old-fashioned grandfather clock in the corner, the small plant growing under the sunlight by the window, and the walls of my favorite color: clean, crisp, cold white.

"Is that a Magritte piece?" I inquired about one of the paintings before even introducing myself. It was a faultless painting of an evening sky occupied by a single figure: a bird whose body was filled with the cloud-laden sky of daytime. It made me feel instantly peaceful and hopeful.

"Yes, it is Magritte. 'La Promesse'."

"It's beautiful."

"Thank you. Would you like take a seat, Mr. Smithers?"

I turned my eyes away from the painting and to the doctor for the first time. She was about my age, with glamorous black hair and the kind of water-hued eyes that melted hearts in the glory days of Hollywood. I laid down on the couch beside her and felt very out of place.

"I'm Dr. Smith. It's a pleasure to meet you."  
I shook her hand. "Pleasure's mine. You know, our last names are the same, except for the 'ers' part. Heh."

She smiled. "That's very interesting." I wondered if she really thought so or if she was just being professional. That's one thing I hated about these kinds of situations. The pretense of it all. "So, have you ever been to therapy before?"

I felt a chill scramble up my spine at the question. "Yes, I have. Why does it matter?"

"It really doesn't. Just a standard question." I already saw her pen scribbling away at that little pad of paper. "How do you feel about therapy?"

I hesitated. "I guess when it's needed, then I feel fine about it."

"But you don't think you need it currently, do you?"

"No, I don't. I'm not troubled. Not anymore." Just saying the word 'troubled' made me nauseated. It was the word my parents and neighbors and authorities always used to use when referring to me, trying to utilize what they deemed the most politically correct term.

Dr. Smith nodded and continued writing. "Then, why are you here?"

"My best friend insisted I come. He's also my boss, so I kind of had to do what he told me, you know?"

"I do," she assured. "And that might be the reason you agreed to come, but that's not the reason you actually came, is it?"

I shifted uneasily on the couch. "I guess not. What are you getting at?"

Dr. Smith looked as if she was about to speak but decided against it. "We'll get to that later. Why don't you tell me about your childhood?"

"No thanks," I snapped.

"Mr. Smithers, if we're going to make any progress at all…"  
"Fine. My childhood was odd. My parents died before I was born. I was a lonely kid. Happy?"

Dr. Smith was writing something on her pad before she looked up at me with a slight smile. "You never met your parents and had few friends, yet you call your childhood 'odd'."

"Well, it's not the Norman Rockwell depiction of a normal nonage, would you say?" I said caustically.

"I meant, that you chose the word 'odd' over 'bad,'" Dr. Smith clarified. "A lot of people say they have bad childhoods."

I shrugged. "Well, it wasn't all bad. Sometimes it was actually rather wonderful."

"Tell me about one of those times."

"Don't therapists usually want their patients to recite every painful detail of their worst memories?" I asked.

She smiled and took off her red-rimmed, cat-eye glasses. "We'll get there. But one's psyche is not only formed by the bad times. Let's start off with the good. Just tell me everything you can remember about one good time in your childhood. One random, wonderful time."

I thought back. It seemed like such a long time ago. But I suddenly knew of which time I would talk about. That summer day when I was eight-years-old. That random, wonderful summer day…I took a deep breath and pulled back the details from the alcoves of my mind. This was it. This was therapy. This was what Mr. Burns wanted. And so, I would do it...


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Simpsons characters; however, I do own Dr. Smith and Mr. Barrington. If you would like to use them, just ask. :)

Please read and review! Both constructive criticism and praise are greatly appreciated!

"I remember that day with such clarity, so I suppose it really isn't all that random. It must mean something to me, right? And meaning is never random, is it?" I inquired before reciting my memory.

"Actually, sometimes the most important moments in our life don't seem to have such evident importance, and therefore, random times can be the most life-altering," Dr. Smith answered, pushing her descending glasses back to her eyes.

"Well, I don't know about life-altering, but that summer day definitely was important to me. It was actually the last official day of summer, September 23, 1962…

I had been in a new Catholic elementary school for about a month. My parents thought it would be good for me, but I never knew the reason why. I wasn't a troublesome kid; I wasn't some child that needed straightening out. But I guess they saw something in me that I didn't, because off to Catholic school I was shipped.

I was an immediate outcast. Everyone was already grouped into their little cliques, the most prominent being the preachy, goody-two-shoes. I was a good kid but not a saint, so instead of trying to fit in, I decided to keep to myself. I thought that plan would work best for me, but as usual, I thought wrong.

It was that September day in class when my theology teacher was lecturing on the reasons why people believed what they did about Catholicism. I thought we would just be taking notes on the evidence in the Bible or what not, but Mr. Barrington had something else in mind.

'Waylon?' he called out. I sat up in my seat, startled. I was rarely called on in class. No one ever seemed to notice me at all. I even heard a few of my peers whisper, 'Waylon? We have a Waylon in this class? Who's that?' Nevertheless, I cleared my throat and responded, 'Yes, Mr. Barrington?'

'Why do you believe in Catholicism?' he asked.

Everyone turned their heads to stare at me. I fumbled with my glasses, blushed, and stammered, 'I…I…'

'It's okay, Waylon. There are no wrong answers,' Mr. Barrington assured me.

I calmed down a bit. I took a deep breath and endeavored not to meet the staring eyes. 'I…don't,' I answered.

'You don't what?' asked my teacher.

To which I maybe wrongly replied, 'I don't believe in Catholicism.'

Many of my classmates gasped and looked at me with accusatory eyes. I looked down again. Mr. Barrington even look surprised, but not judgmental. 'That's okay, Waylon. Would you like to tell us why you don't believe in Catholicism, then?'

I really didn't want to, but I knew I had to. I reluctantly answered, 'I just think it's hypocritical.' I heard one of my peers ask, 'What's he saying about a hippo?'"

Dr. Smith and I chuckled a bit about this before she encouraged me to go on with my story. "So, then I explained, 'I mean, the Catholic church supposedly promotes love and acceptance of all people, yet they go and treat homosexuals and bisexuals like crap.' This was, well, I suppose the wrong thing to say to a classroom filled with thirty Catholic kids who, for the most part, had not learned to think for themselves yet. The class immediately erupted into gasps and gossip, and Mr. Barrington had to blow a whistle to get the class to settle down.

'Waylon, you're entitled to your opinion, but we don't use language like that at this school,' Mr. Barrington said sternly.

'Language like what? Homosexual and bisexual? Would you rather use 'fag' or 'queer'?' I asked angrily.

I provoked the class again. Mr. Barrington replied, 'I was referring to your usage of 'crap', Mr. Smithers, but you have officially crossed the line from free speech into offense. Detention starts today at 4. Now please go to the principal's office and explain to him why you are disturbing the learning process. Go!'

At first, I couldn't leave my seat. I was paralyzed with embarrassment and remorse and fear. But then I decided I had to get away from all those pairs of staring eyes and whispering mouths. So I went. And I went to detention after school. And I planned to sit there for an hour wishing I hadn't said what I said. But then someone changed my mind.

'Hey, Waylon,' came a familiar voice. I looked next to me and saw the most unlikely person to ever have detention sitting next to me. The person next to me was the golden child of Springfield, the top student in our class, the one who could recite every passage of the Bible on the first day of school, the boy whom every girl had a crush on, every teacher's pet, a joy to his parents, a friend to everyone, a pure saint. And yet, here he sat with me, the only other person in detention that day.

I felt my eyes grow wide at the sight of him. Then I realized my silence must have been rather rude. 'H-hey, Ned,' I replied. I smiled weakly. 'What are _you _doing here?'

Ned chuckled a bit and sighed. 'Well, sir, the same reason you are,' he told me.

'What are you talking about?' I asked.

He responded, 'I agreed with you. When you left for the principal's office, my friend Timothy called you a total closet case, and well, I kind of got a bit mad.'

I couldn't believe it. 'What did you do?' I asked.

'I slugged him one. Heh-heh,' Ned replied. 'Oh, yeah. My parents are really going to put me in anger management this time.'

'Wow,' I replied. 'You did that just to defend me? But why? We're not even really friends.'

Ned shrugged and grinned. 'Well, I am a devout Catholic. I believe in the Bible with passion. But I believe in the love and acceptance of all people side of the story.'

I blushed and said, 'Ned, thank you…I don't know what to say.'

'No thanks necessary. I was happy to do it. Let my parents put me in anger management. I don't regret what I did,' Ned said. 'And neither should you. You know, I don't know if what the kids in that class said were true about you or if you just have a radical spirit, but either way, you stick to it. You hear? Don't settle for someone else's beliefs.'

I guess that day wasn't really all that wonderful, but in a weird way, it was one of the most wonderful times of my childhood, because in that moment when Ned told me to stick to my beliefs, I…I just felt the greatest weight being lifted off my back. Someone believed in me. Someone would defend me. Someone cared about me. And no one ever had before." I shrugged and looked at Dr. Smith, who I expected would be scribbling away furiously at her notepad, and I was right. As she wrote, I looked at the clock.

"I guess time is up for today," I pointed out.

"Yes, you're right." And just as I was beginning to feel relieved, Dr. Smith added, "Next week, we will talk about the people who didn't care about you." I felt my palms begin to sweat. Next week, we would talk about my parents. Oh, God…


	3. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Simpsons characters; however, I do own Dr. Smith, Mr. Barrington, and Smithers' parents. If you would like to use them, just ask.

Please read and review! Both constructive criticism and praise are greatly appreciated!

"Why don't you think your parents cared about you, Mr. Smithers?" Dr. Smith asked me on my next visit.

I sighed and hesitated. I knew she was going to ask this question. I had known for a week and had been trying to think of an answer for her that wouldn't force tears out of my eyes when I said it. I thought for a week during my free time; my parents seemed to reenter my thoughts at every moment. And finally, when I thought I had rid myself of them for good. Finally, when I was free, Dr. Smith had to bring it all back.

I still had no answer that wouldn't cause me pain, so I tried to get the words out quickly. "Because they didn't, okay? They just didn't. And they weren't my real parents anyway, so why should they care about me?"

"Was there one particular instance that convinced you they didn't care about you?"

I closed my eyes and folded my hands over my chest. "I guess there is one time that the truth of their hatred for me really hit me. I mean, I always kind of knew, but I guess I didn't really acknowledge it to myself before? Does that make sense?"

"Yes, I understand."

"Okay, well…" I began, but the subsequent words wouldn't exit my mouth. "Do I have to tell this story? I don't know if I can."

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, Mr. Smithers," Dr. Smith said reassuringly. "However, I would like if you tried. It would help me understand you better, and I think you'll find it rather freeing as well."

I pondered this notion. Talking about my parents being freeing for me. It seemed implausible, but what did I know? Even though I had been to quite a few psychiatrists, I wasn't one of them. "Um…okay, I'll try. It was Halloween day, the same year as the previous memory I told you about.

I had been in school for a couple months, and it was growing harder every day. I only had one friend in the world, and that was Ned Flanders, and even he was not too much of a consolation for my loneliness because he was always with his best friend, Timothy Lovejoy, and Timothy was pretty much my archenemy, if that doesn't sound too dramatic.

Ever since the day I spoke out about the hypocrisies of the Catholic Church, Timothy would torment me whenever he received the opportunity. During class, when I did my presentations, I would always hear Timothy whispering to his friends about me, and the expression on Ned's face always told me what he was saying. If I faltered in my speech, Timothy would laugh wholeheartedly. If I were to be called on in class and answer the question incorrectly, Timothy would be right there to say, 'I told you guys he was an ignorant queer.'

I guess Timothy forgave Ned easily for punching him, but he still wouldn't let me off the hook for what I said. I didn't know why it meant so much to him, although I suppose it was because he was afraid of me and what untapped ideas I so effortlessly believed in. He must have been scared senseless of what I represented when all his life he just believed in things without question." I shrugged. "Maybe he was beginning to question his beliefs, and he hated me for robbing him of that security. Or maybe he just truly believed that I was a sacrilegious idiot. I don't know. But either way, he had it in for me.

After being sent to anger management, Ned came out a slightly different person. He would still talk to me and treat me kindly, but I never saw him slug Timothy or any other boy again when they called me names. And that was okay. I never expected anything from Ned, and the friendship he did proffer me was all I could really ask for.

But I did grow terribly lonely. I could only hang out with Ned once in a while after school when Timothy went to the church to help his father out. And not only did I grow lonely; I grew more confused than ever about myself.

I truly loved being with Ned, and the little outburst I had in class made me start to wonder why I was so passionate about that particular hypocrisy in the Catholic religion. I never really knew I cared at all, but when Mr. Barrington asked me that question, I don't know, something inside me just erupted. Something repressed and angry and confusing. And I started to wonder if my feelings for Ned went beyond normal friendship.

I didn't know how to test it out though. If I were to do something rash and stupid again, like hold his hand or something, I could lose his friendship forever, and I didn't want that at all. And eventually it would get around to the entire school, and Timothy would probably kill me. So, I waited. I waited to see if there was another way to know. When Ned and I would hang out, I would ask him if there were any girls he liked. And he would always come back with one answer: Maude Williams. She was the one for him, he would say dreamily. And I would ask him how he knew.

'Well, sir, I think you just know. I've never felt this way about a girl before. I know it's probably just a childhood crush, but maybe it something more. Maude is just an angel. And so pretty too, don't you think?' he asked me one day while we ate ice cream at a parlor that is now Moe's Tavern.

'Yes, she's very beautiful,' I agreed. 'But how do you know when your feelings are more than friendship? What does it feel like?'

Ned chuckled. 'Come on, Waylon. Are you telling me you've never had a crush on anyone before?'

I didn't know how to respond. 'Well, I guess there was a girl when I was in first grade. She kissed me on the cheek under the mistletoe in our classroom, and we said we were going steady, which only lasted for about a week. And that was pretty much the extent of it.'

Ned looked contemplative as he put another spoonful of strawberry ice cream into his mouth. 'Well, sir, I guess it's both the way you feel around them and when you're not around them. When you're around someone you fancy, you get butterflies in your stomach. You feel nervous and delirious and just perfectly in the moment with them. And when you're not with them, you just want to be. You think of them. Things remind you of them.'

I looked down, realizing my feelings fit almost every criterion Ned mentioned. 'And when you do have a crush on someone, how do you find out if they feel the same way?'

He probably wasn't the best person to ask, since he pretty much knew every girl in school liked him anyway, but he answered anyway. 'You could just ask her, but the more fun way is to kiss her.'

I looked away, knowing I could never do that. So instead, that Halloween, I decided to play dress up. My parents had refused to buy me a costume because they thought it was a waste of money, since I had no friends with whom to go trick-or-treating anyway. Instead, they decided to go out to the movies and leave me at home to give candy away to more popular kids who came to our door. I felt so left out, seeing all my peers going around the blocks laughing and scaring each other and just getting to be someone else for the night. Just getting to be someone else, which I wanted to do desperately.

Once the word had spread around the neighborhood that the only thing the Maple family was offering was tootsie rolls, people stopped coming to our door. Which was perfectly fine with me. I then had some alone time and I suddenly got an idea of what I would do with it. I went into my mom's closet and dug out a fancy dress and some high heels. It wasn't like I wanted to be a transvestite or something; I just wanted to dress up for the night and be like the other kids. I also wanted to see if being a woman was more suited to my tastes. It wasn't. I didn't feel any differently in a dress than I did in a shirt and bow tie. The high heels were hard to walk in, and not particularly fun. I have since learned that homosexuality and bisexuality are not synonymous with transvestitism, but at the time, I was relieved by my disinterest.

My dad, however, did not see it that way. He and my mom arrived home earlier than expected and found me still clad in my mother's clothing." I had to pause, taking a breath, finding it increasingly difficult to go on. I had to make it brief, or I would fall apart. "My dad ripped the dress off me and beat me for ten minutes straight, calling me the same things Timothy and the other kids called me every day. My mother then dumped me in my room, crying and naked, and locked the door. After that day, my mom looked at me with more repulsion and hatred than she ever had before. And my dad began beating me almost every day. He said he was trying to make me a man. He said he only wanted me to be able to love myself someday, since he knew he never could. But if my self-hatred had not begun to sink in my heart yet, it certainly did from that Halloween on." 


	4. Chapter 4

"It wasn't only my parents who abused me," I told Dr. Smith before she could speak. "I felt like, well, everyone did at some point. And I began to become accustomed to it, I suppose, although I always longed for one person who would not break my heart in some way."

"What about Ned Flanders?" Dr. Smith asked.

I sighed and closed my eyes. "Things with Ned only got worse as time went by. It became maddening to be friends with someone I actually grew to love. When I was a kid, it was just a little crush, you know, how childhood crushes are. But it transmogrified into something much more than that, and in consequence, it began to hurt more and more.

Ned and Maude Williams began going steady pretty much a month after Ned first told me of his feelings for her. I wasn't too disturbed. I mean, I thought it was going to be like all of Ned's previous elementary school romances. A cute letter passed in class here. A peck on the cheek there. And it was like that for a while. What more could 8-year-olds do? And at that point, my feelings for Ned were just as basic. A crush. God, I miss just having a simple crush. It's painful, but it's not…it's not like…" I paused, unable to finish the simple sentence.

"Anyway, Ned and I still spent time together. Actually, we spent many afternoons that summer riding our bicycles around Springfield, partaking in some baseball games, hiding out in his tree house and playing card games all night while his parents thought we were asleep. Those were some of the most perfect days of my life, especially because Timothy Lovejoy had left for the summer to go to Bible camp, so I could enjoy my time with Ned without interference. Well, without too much interference. There was always Ned's other devout friends, who didn't really care for me too much after what I said in class. Even though months had passed and school had ended, no one but Ned ever looked at me the same.

Those other friends weren't really the problem, though. While they didn't really like me, they didn't really hate me. And without Timothy, Ned was the most dominant one in his group, so they kind of just followed what he said. And he said I was a good guy, so they treated me primarily with indifference. Sometimes a bit of cruelty here and there, making little malicious remarks under their breaths when I would ask if anyone wanted to play dolls with me or whatnot." I stopped at that point and reflected, smiling for a change. "I remember Ned would play dolls with me once in a while. He didn't even hesitate when I asked him the first time. He just said, 'Well, sure, Waylon. Here, let's dress this Malibu Stacy up in a pretty sparkly gown, shall we?'" I smiled at the memory. God, I was really starting to miss Ned.

"Anyway, whenever someone would call me a name or whatever, Ned assured me that I had a laudable balance between my masculinity and femininity, but even so, I learned quickly to keep my pastimes with Ned's friends to my more masculine interests at the time, like baseball and cards. So, while these extraneous peers sometimes invaded what I wanted to be private time with Ned, they didn't bother me too much. It was actually nice at times to have acquaintances. It was Maude that was really the problem.

A little while after she and Ned were officially going steady, she kissed him on the lips for a few seconds, and I was the first person Ned talked to about it. 'Oh, Waylon, she kissed me! Right there under the canopy in my backyard. And we were sitting there on the swing, and the night was fused by the scents of the jasmines growing nearby, and the night was perfected by the stars that grinned resplendently down upon us.'

I scoffed internally. 'Wow, love really brings out the poet in you,' I said with a bit of edge.

Ned didn't seem to notice, though. He continued to blether on about his perfect night. 'And she was wearing that cranberry-colored dress I like so much, and…well, sir, I think I may be in love!' he exclaimed, to which I could only reply sardonically, 'Really? I never would have guessed.'

'Waylon, Maude is the one for me,' he continued passionately.

'Well, whoop di doo, Ned,' I now said with patent anger.

He finally noticed. He turned to me in confusion and asked, 'Well, what's the matter? Aren't you happy for me? I might have found my true love!'

'Yeah, right. True love at 8-years-old. Give me a break,' I said, acting like I didn't believe in the conception even when I myself thought I might have been suffering from it.

Ned looked rather heartbroken, and I kind of like being the one to make him feel that way. He said, 'Well, maybe it's rather implausible, but anything's possible, don't you think?'

I shrugged. 'I don't know what to think about love or anything resembling it. I really have no experience,' I replied.

'Well, that's no reason to condemn-diddly-em what could be true love, is it? I mean, Waylon, you act as if you were jealous,' he said.

I widened and then narrowed my eyes. 'Jealous? What? That word is not even in my vocabulary, Ned.'

'Well, you know, it would be okay if you were. I'd understand,' he then said, and I wondered if he had known all along about my feelings.

'You would?' I asked.

Ned nodded and answered, 'Well, sure. I understand how you might like Maude too. She's really a fine girl. And we can both chase her. May the best man win!'

At that point, I turned violently away from my friend and replied, 'Forget it. You can have her. I don't have a crush on Maude, and I'm not jealous; I'm just…well…'

'Oh, I get it now. You don't like Maude. You just…' Ned started. I waited anxiously for how he would complete the phrase. 'You just want a girlfriend too. I'm so stupid. Prattling on endlessly about my romance when you don't have one. That was just darn thoughtless of me. I'm sorry, Waylon!'

At that juncture, I officially knew that Ned knew nothing of my feelings for him, and I wasn't sure if I was comforted or disappointed by that fact. I decided to cut my jealous act and play along with what he was saying, however. 'Well, I guess you're right. It's difficult to see other people in love when you aren't, or at least when someone isn't in love with you. But that's no reason for me to be a jerk to you. I am happy for you. Maude's a great girl, and I hope you guys stay together,' I said, feeling a bit guilty for telling my best friend such an enormous lie.

And then Ned something that seemed like a minor, nice gesture at the time, but it actually ended up starting a new and painful chapter in my life. He looked at me, smiled, and said, 'Well, I know this really nice girl who would be perfect for you. Her name is Margery Bouvier. Why don't I set you guys up?'"


	5. Chapter 5

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: Thank you all for reading and reviewing! Any review or comment is greatly appreciated! Thank you, and happy reading!

I sighed and looked up at Dr. Smith. She had been rather quiet throughout each session, almost just staring at me as I prattled on about my twisted childhood. I almost questioned this method, but decided that she knew what she was doing. She certainly did not seem like the lazy type.

"So, a couple days later, Ned invited me to a summer bash he and his family were hosting at the neighborhood pool. It sounded fun enough, I suppose, and Ned said that Margery was going to be there, so I agreed to come. The whole thing seemed rather ridiculous to me, though. I mean, we were only in 4th grade and yet we all felt like we needed girlfriends and boyfriends? It just seemed odd, but I guess it was true. We were growing up fast, and we couldn't help it.

As I was leaving for the party, my dad stopped me at the door and questioned my activity. I had been growing more and more resentful of the man every day, so I just decided to say what I felt: 'I'm carrying a towel and am clad in swim trunks. Where the hell do you think I'm going?' I asked, immediately regretting it. Oh, how I hoped my dad wouldn't touch me. Not then. I couldn't bare going to the party with a black eye or worse.

Fortunately, my dad didn't hit me. He just gazed at me with those beady eyes. I always thought some spirit must have literally dug up two disintegrating coals from the ground and decided my dad didn't deserve anything better for eyes.

'A pool party, is it? Is Nerd Flanders going to be there?' he asked spitefully.

I tried this time to hold onto my temper, knowing I was merely lucky last time. 'It's Ned,' I corrected. 'And yes, he is the one throwing the party.'

'Then I don't want you going,' my dad said, and when I questioned him with rage, he replied, 'You and Ned have been hanging out too much lately, and I'm starting to wonder what it you guys are doing up there all those nights in his treehouse.'

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. 'Dad, Ned and I are just friends,' I said, sadly honestly. 'He's in love with this girl…' I began desolately, desperately wishing I could talk to my dad about the pain in my heart, but knowing there was no way I could.

'Well, that's just peachy-keen, but it's more you I'm worried about,' my dad started.

I quickly defended myself. 'Well, for your information, the only reason I'm even going to the party is to meet this girl, Margery,' I half-lied.

'So you can play dolls or so that you can be a normal boy and kiss her, for God's sake?' my dad asked irately.

I hadn't really considered what I was going to do once I met her, but hearing the tone in my dad's voice, I made a hasty decision. 'Well, I'm going to kiss her. Of course,' I heard myself promise. And back then, I just couldn't break my promises. I thought doing so was one of the worst sins of all, I suppose because I had had so many promises shredded by others in my life.

'Well, good. You better kiss her,' my dad said, finally moving out of my way and forcing me to walk to Ned's house, which was not at all uncommon even though my friend's abode was blocks away. I began my tread there, thinking about my promise, growing more anxious about it by the minute. I had never kissed anyone before, well, on the lips, that is. I supposed that I could peck Margery on the cheek. I wondered if that would still count, and somehow I doubted it.

When I arrived at Ned's house, most of the guests were already there, including Margery, although I didn't know that at the time. I actually met her eyes as I walked in. She was quite the lovely girl and still today a beautiful woman. She's now married to one of my employees, actually. Heh. It's strange the cards fate deals you, huh?

Anyway, I saw her immediately when I stepped foot into the pool area. Aside from Maude, she was the most striking girl there, with straight, shiny blue hair that cascaded almost down the entirety of her back and her eyes…so wide and bright and…warm. That was rare in Springfield, and I guess, it's what drew me to her. That warmth that my life seemed to constantly lack.

Firstly, I approached Ned, however. I had no amount of confidence that would propel me to ever go over there unaccompanied and talk to her. She was surrounded by Maude Williams, Helen Cresswell, and some red-haired girl I hadn't met. Maude would have, in all probability, treated me with kindness, as I was Ned's friend and she his 'girlfriend'. Helen, well…I had never really spoken to her, but she was like a Timothy Lovejoy in female form, and I wanted to steer clear of anyone even remotely resembling him.

So, I fled to Ned, who—upon seeing me—immediately embraced me joyfully and greeted, 'Waylon, buddy! I'm so glad you could make it!' I felt odd hugging Ned, like I wanted to badly but like it was wrong for me to want to, and it was just a vicious cycle.

So, I pulled away quickly and smiled. 'Thanks, Ned. I'm glad I could too. The party looks really fun,' I said rather dully.

'Why, thank you, sir,' Ned replied merrily. 'Hey, did you see Margery Bouvier? The one with the long, blue hair?'

'I was hoping that was her!' I exclaimed. 'She's a beauty.' Suddenly, something hit me. Suddenly, my excitement waned. 'And I bet she would never want to go steady with someone like me. I mean, what were you thinking, wanting to set us up? That kind of girl doesn't date losers like me, Ned. They just don't.'

I'll never forget how Ned responded to me. He adjusted his glasses, looked at me crossly and said, 'Waylon, I'm tired of your self-deprecation. You're an exceptional human being, and anyone would be lucky to have you. I don't know where you get this complex that you are any less than the rest of us, because the fact is, you're above all of us. You really are. Now go talk to Margery and tell me all the details afterward, okay?'

At that moment, I really was tempted to just kiss my friend. Out of gratitude…out of love…I don't know, but he made me feel like no one else ever had. He truly loved me, even though I knew it wasn't the way I loved him." I paused and looked around Dr. Smith's office. I didn't want to go on. I wished the time would just be up already. It seemed like it was taking hours.

"So, did you approach Margery, Mr. Smithers?" asked Dr. Smith, sounding as if she were genuinely intrigued with the story. This encouraged me a bit.

"I did," I answered. "And without Ned. I was so scared, but I knew I just had to do it. Get it over with. I didn't know what would come of it. All I knew was that by the end of the night, I had to kiss her. And it would hard to do, if I didn't even talk to her.

So, I paced across the area. She was still there, gossiping with her friends, when I just went up to her and asked, 'Hi, are you Margery Bouvier?'

Her friends looked at one another and Margery herself looked at me with surprise. 'Well, yes. I am. Who are you?'

'I'm Waylon Smithers. I'm a friend of Ned's,' I started, my voice trembling.

She smiled and replied, 'Well, it's nice to meet you.'

'It's my pleasure. Um…would you like to go for a swim?' I asked. I really didn't know what to ask, and since it was a pool party, well…it seemed logical enough. And she accepted the offer. She actually abandoned her friends to go swim with me.

I was so shocked and relieved and nervous simultaneously. It made my stomach tie up in knots. It was kind of how I felt with Ned, and this comforted me a bit. Maybe there was something between this girl and me. And God, I remember just praying that there was, so I could be normal. That's all I wanted. I began to despise my feelings for Ned, beginning to despise myself every time I was around him. But if I was with Margery, I reasoned, I could start being friends with Ned and being happy with myself at the same time. And I wanted nothing more than to just be happy with myself for once.

Margery and I actually did get along swimmingly. No pun intended. Heh. We had a lot in common. We were both on the radical side of things, defending seemingly lost causes and all that, and she was just a sweetheart. You know, when I think about it, she was like how her daughter Lisa is now. Just a passionate individual, intelligent, strong, but warm. It was a rare combination of qualities, and I looked favorably upon it.

By the end of the night, it was clear that we were both rather smitten with each other. Although we had only known each other for a few hours, I decided to be bold and asked her to go steady. Another offer she accepted. And I guess it must seem like everything was perfect, but one thing wasn't." I sighed. "When I kissed her, as I promised I would, I barely felt anything. And this scared me half to death."


	6. Chapter 6

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: I'm sorry it has taken me forever and a day to update this story, but I hope you haven't lost interest. :-/ Please read and review! Both constructive criticism and praise are greatly appreciated! Thank you. :)

"Of course, I didn't tell Margery or anyone else for that matter about my absence of feeling during our kiss. In fact, I didn't really even confess this fact to myself. Instead, I tried to drown out my fears with synthetic happiness and excitement, running to Ned shortly after the event as he was cleaning up the party tables and bidding some of his friends goodbye.

'Ned, Ned, I have something to tell you!' I exclaimed, almost believing my own elation.

Ned turned to me excitedly as he tossed another soda can into his recycling bag. 'What is it, Waylon? Did something happen between you and Margery?' he asked.

I feigned sadness and said, 'No, something didn't happen.' I then looked up at Ned and smiled. 'A lot of things happened! Heh-heh.'

Ned laughed and hit me in the arm jocundly and said, 'Waylon, don't do that! Now, tell me what happened. Did you hold hands?'

'Well, yes, we did. We also kissed and are actually going steady,' I told him quietly, attempting now to contain enthusiasm that was actually beginning to surface.

Ned was perhaps more excited than I was and that hurt me a bit. I knew it wasn't plausible but somewhere inside me, I had hoped he might be jealous. I mean, I knew he wouldn't be. But his evident absence of anything but genuine thrill for me still wore my heart down.

'Well, you know what this means, Waylon? We can all start hanging out as couples and going on double dates together. Won't that be fun-diddly-un?' asked Ned, to which I replied with a smile and a nod.

And so we did. Sometimes it was terrible. I was previously worried that Ned and I were beginning to have only a small quantity of alone time, and now we practically had none. Margery and Maude were always with us, and what's worse, I was the only one who seemed to mind. I hated being so isolated in my discontent, but I tried to make the best of what I did have: two wonderful friends and a girlfriend who I, at some times, actually did fancy.

And we did have good times together, all four of us. We created a lot of memories that summer and the following school year, which was umpteen times better than the last because with Margery by my side, I became rather well-liked. When people found out I was going steady with a girl, they began to forget about my comment the prior September and started to accept me as a normal boy.

Well, not immediately. When people first found out about me and Margery, gossip inevitably followed: 'I thought he was gay', 'I thought he was into boys', 'He's just using her to prove something', et cetera. And I thought that all this talk was surely going to make Margery wary of being my girlfriend, but she never even mentioned it. Perhaps she was just extremely naïve and had somehow been oblivious to the rumors or maybe she was quite the opposite. Perchance she heard the talk as much as everyone else did, but was intelligent enough to disregard it. Or maybe she was just scared to face the possibility. I don't know, but all I know is that that elephant in the room just stood there patiently, waiting for its time to walk all over me, which I suspected it would someday do.

Fortunately, the someday I feared did not arrive throughout my entire childhood. Any comments I had made in the past were completely forgotten by my peers by the end of elementary school, and even Timothy had accepted me as a friend once he learned about my little romance with Margery. It was the first day of 5th grade actually when this major modification in my life was made. I had been dressing out for gym when Timothy approached me with some of his followers. He had grown quite a bit over the summer and with his new staggering height, he was even more intimidating than before. 'Well, hello, Smithers,' he greeted maliciously. Some time during the past year, he had taken to calling me by my last name as a sign of his enmity with me. And then he continued in an almost friendly tone of voice, 'How was your summer?'

I cautiously answered, 'It was wonderful, Lovejoy,' to which he retorted, 'Oh, it was wonderful, was it? You must have kissed a lot boys then, eh, Smithers?' He was never known as the cleverest boy in school, but he certainly delivered his usually bovine quips in such a hateful tone of voice that his lack of wit didn't really matter.

Of course, his comment got my irate juices flowing as I said, 'No, I didn't. I have a girlfriend now, you idiot. Where have _you_ been? Oh, that's right, you were at that ridiculous Bible camp learning more about that nonexistent God of yours while the rest of us were busy having lives this summer.'

Instead of my comment turning Timothy into even greater an enemy than he already was, it in fact had the opposite effect. His countenance immediately altered from resentment to surprise as he asked, 'You have a girlfriend? Who?'

'Margery Bouvier,' I answered proudly. Everyone knew of her. She didn't go to our Catholic school, but she was simply popular in town. Even those who had never met her (like me before that summer) had heard her name. And by the look of awe on Timothy's face when I said her name, I suspected her knew her too.

He then stared and questioned, 'So, you're not a sinner anymore? You're not queer?'

While I was stirred by this remark to once again defend the purity and righteousness of different sexualities, I had definitely learned from my past mistake and instead replied casually, 'No, I'm not queer, and I never was. That's what I've been trying to tell you for the past year, you…' I then held back my urge to name-call and simply waited for a response.

Timothy and his friends looked back and forth at one another in surprise and newfound respect, I suppose. The root of this respect, while provoking anger inside me, also provoked a revelation that I could now use Margery as a tool to become popular and accepted within the Christian community. And while I didn't want to use Margery that way, I began to feel like I had no choice if I wanted to have a normal childhood.

'Well, Waylon, welcome aboard to the right path of life, my friend,' Timothy said, while smiling for the first time at me with no hint of malice. He offered his hand, which I shook, experiencing a mix of relief and repulsion. I didn't want this horrible boy as my friend, yet I certainly didn't want him as my enemy either.

So, I attempted reticently, 'So, um, now that we're friends…do you guys want to go play baseball after school with me and Ned?' to which each boy agreed wholeheartedly.

And so with the addition of Margery came a whole new life for me. My parents were disgustingly relieved beyond measure that I not only had a girlfriend but that I was also now popular among the 'normal' boys and was not restricted to just being with Ned, which they had really began growing rightly suspicious of. My mom stopped harassing me and my dad stopped beating me. They thought their job was done and done well.

My dolls were packed away and replaced by collections of baseball cards. I quit the Bibliophiles Organization at school and joined the Video Game Club. I was changing. And abruptly. And I didn't even really know why. Was it Margery? Was it my new friends? Or did I simply begin to view myself as normal and therefore decided I wanted this view to be truthful? I wasn't sure then, and I'm still not. But nevertheless, I and everyone else were convinced that I was a new and better person.

And this general peacefulness, if not real happiness, in my life lasted for quite a while. Margery and I were a solid couple all through middle school, and even I had almost forgotten about my comment long ago about Catholicism and the frightening reasons behind it. Until one winter day in my freshman year of high school. Until that day when I ruined everything once again.


	7. Chapter 7

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: Thank you all so much for your reviews! Please continue to read and review! Every word is greatly appreciated! Thank you. :)

"It was almost winter break and everything had begun to gleam with the warm, matchless glow of Christmastime. Soft hills of sparkling ice lined every road…the scents of cinnamon and fireplaces and cold air partook in a perfect dance around every corner. Every scene my eyes saw seemed to be a breathtaking one. And maybe it also seemed that way because my life seemed to be impeccable itself.

I had Margery and Ned and my friends and a family that had accepted me. I was in the top 1 of my class, which I had found out a week earlier and had made me very proud. I had also been nominated for freshman class president, which had taken me by complete surprise, as I had always predicted that I would have been a total outcast in high school. I guess a lot of things hadn't turned out the way I had predicted when I was a mere child, scared of myself and of my future.

The most still being that I had a beautiful girl to call my own. I truly had never seen that coming and even after four years, I was staggered by my luck. My life had become so good that sometimes I would reflect on it and wonder just when my repute for sadness was going to kick in again. I was always waiting for something to assassinate the happiness I had by some wild chance found. And I suppose I never really foresaw that the assassin would be I.

The downfall of my joyous existence all began one day that winter. Ned and I had been sitting on a small mountain of snow, foolishly freezing our rears off as we tried laughably to counter the action by sipping on steaming mugs of hot cocoa.

'Nothing beats a cup of hot cocoa on a blizzardiddly day, huh, Waylon?' asked Ned cheerfully as I shivered next to him under my down-filled anorak and replied with feigned jubilance, 'Sure thing, Ned. What could be better?"

Ned didn't seem to notice my pretense and continued sipping his drink happily. 'You know what we should do, Waylon?' he asked. 'We should go for a good, old-fashioned sleigh ride. See the whole town like this. I bet you it'd be quite a sight!"

I smiled at my friend. I couldn't help it. Who could ever resist smiling at someone like Ned Flanders? I told him that his idea sounded great and so immediately Ned stood and began prancing off to find a sleigh while I was still on the ground, my body's low temperature increasing the difficulty of my ability to even stand. 'Uh, Ned, can you help me up, please?' I asked, a bit annoyed, as Ned turned around and hurried back to me.

'Oh, sorry, Waylon,' apologized Ned as he offered me his bare hand, which my gloved hand gladly took. I instantly noticed how good it felt: my hand in his. But I drove the thought out of my mind, like I had been accustomed to doing for the past four years.

'How do you stay so warm, Ned? I mean, you're clad in jeans and a jacket and here I am, looking ridiculous in this oversized parka and gloves,' I pointed out.

Ned chuckled and said kindly, 'You don't look ridiculous. You look like a little Eskimo. I bet Margery would actually think you look cute.'

And suddenly, I just asked, 'Do you think I look cute?' I don't know what came over me at that moment. I just…the words just flew out of my mouth like I had no control over them whatsoever. Ned just stared back at me for a minute before he said, 'Um…I suppose so, Waylon,' trying to sound polite although his discomfort was evident. I quickly responded, 'I'm sorry, Ned. I don't know why I asked you that.' I gave no excuse nor cover-up because I simply could not think of anything that would justify why I wanted to know if my best friend thought I was cute.

Ned slightly smiled and said, 'Uh, it's okily-dokily, Waylon. So, you want to go catch that sleigh?' I nodded in response and we ambled awkwardly to the sleigh, in which we sat and began to ride in a bit of tongue-tied silence before Ned cleared his throat and said, 'So, Waylon, are you excited about the winter formal?'

As I cleaned off some bits of snow that had flown onto my glasses, I replied, 'It is quite exciting. Expensive, though. I've been trying to find good deals on a tux and corsage and limo, but it all still adds up. Not to mention the expense of the ticket itself.' I knew I must have sounded like a downer, talking about the money rather than the event, but I had always envisioned myself as a struggling elitist: with the mind of a snob but the wallet of a common man. I wished I could change that.

Ned, however, was not focused on this issue, as his family had always been rather well-off. And even if they weren't, Ned just wasn't the type to care about frivolities like money. 'Well, sir, I do agree about the expense, but it's definitely going to be worth it. I guarantee you. It'll be the most romantic night of our lives! The moonlight, the dance floor, the beautiful angels by our sides…' cooed Ned quixotically.

I smiled a bit at the thought. 'You're right. It's going to be wonderful,' I agreed before a question arose that had been bothering me for a while. 'Um, Ned? Can I ask you something personal?'

'Well, sure, Waylon. Ask away,' replied Ned, though a bit warily now.

I hesitated. 'Well, Ned, I have been talking to some of my friends and they all said that they were planning to…get their dance dates into bed with them the night of the formal. And I was wondering if you were planning on doing the same with Maude.'

Ned gasped piercingly, widened his eyes in wholesome shock, and exclaimed, 'Oh, Waylon, of course not! How could you even ask me that?'

I became a bit defensive and asked, 'Why not? It's reasonable to assume you guys might…I mean, you've been together 5 years, and now we're teenagers, and well…it's reasonable.'

Staring at me in surprise and perhaps disappointment, Ned retorted, 'Reasonable maybe. But commendable? No, sir! Waylon, we're only 14-years-old! I mean…you and Margery? Have you?'

'No, of course not,' I replied hastily. 'I mean…maybe on formal night.'

'You're serious? My friend, think about this long and hard-diddly-ard before you do anything rash!' advised Ned worriedly.

'What are you so upset about, Ned? I'm not talking about world domination here. I'm talking about sex,' I pointed out, to which Ned actually gasped again when he heard me use the word 'sex'. I rolled my eyes. 'What? Are you waiting till marriage or something?'

'Of course I am! That's what the Bible says to do, Waylon,' Ned replied.

I crossed my arms over my chest in indignation. 'I _know_ what the Bible says, Ned. But you can't base your life on some fictitious book. Don't you ever want to just give in to what you want to do? Give in to pleasure?'

Now Ned was angry, although he attempted to contain this ire. 'Waylon, I respect your agnosticism, so please respect my Christianity,' he offered.

I looked away embarrassedly for what I had said. I was just making too many mistakes lately. 'I'm sorry, Ned. I just think that you're not living your life to its fullest if you are constantly the slave to some seemingly all-powerful old man.'

Ned put his hand to my shoulder and said, 'It's okay, Waylon. I know you only want what's best for me. But even if I didn't believe in the Bible, I still wouldn't want to have sex with Maude at this time of my life. It's just not the right time.'

I smiled slyly. 'You wouldn't _want_ to?' I asked, prompting a similarly devious grin from Ned when he replied, 'Well…just between you and me…I do think about it.'

I felt my eyebrows rise in surprise at this decree. I smiled. 'I knew you had it in you,' I said. I suppose that might have sounded odd, but Ned didn't seem to notice because he was too preoccupied with the fact that he just confessed to me that he had impure thoughts. He was blushing terribly, but I assured him that it was all right. It was normal. He wasn't too convinced, but then the subject got back to me and Margery. 'Does Margery know you intend you to…advance your relationship on formal night?' Ned asked me, still sounding vexed and disapproving of the idea.

I shook my head. 'Well, I don't even know if I'm going to pursue it. I just wanted to talk to you about it first.'

The reality was that while I did have sexual feelings for Margery and was honestly considering losing my virginity to her that night if she was willing, my most fervent passions were still my secret ones for Ned. I knew that it would probably always be that way, so I was going to learn to accept it. It bothered me and confused me and sometimes tore me apart, but it probably wouldn't have been too much of a problem, that is, if those secret passions were kept that way: secret. But alas, I had predicted my happiness would not last too long. And this prediction, unlike many of my others, was sadly accurate.


	8. Chapter 8

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: Thank you all for reading and reviewing. :) I'm sorry that this chapter is going to be a bit short, but I will try to make the next one will be extra-long. :) Please read and review! Every word is greatly appreciated! Thank you. :)

I hesitated before telling Dr. Smith anything further. I pondered the idea that perhaps the whole winter formal and everything that followed it were irrelevant. And then I asked myself, _Relevant to what? Why are you even here?_

And the answer came more summarily than I had anticipated: _Because you need to know why you are they way you are._

_And what was is that? Gay? Bi? Confused?_

_Sad. _

Sad: that was what I was. That I could be certain of, although I couldn't exactly identify the basis for this unadorned and simple sadness. For quite a while, I had presumed that I was sad because I was unloved, but I now knew that was untrue. Mr. Burns loved me. Maybe not in the fashion that I loved him, but there was love there, and I was fortunately conscious of it.

But even after I had first learned of my love's love for me, my sadness remained, maybe not so evidently, but profoundly and internally it was a tenant that didn't seem to know when its lease was up. I thought that maybe a romantic love was what I needed to be happy.

But then I got married and attained that craved romantic love, and when my soul still was brimming with discontent, it became clear to me that my melancholy's residency was simply a permanent thing, a fixed emotion in my stormy heart. I thought I had accepted this intransience, but yet, here I was. Wanting to find out exactly wherefore it was there. And more importantly, how I could stop it from taking over the rest of my life.

"Mr. Smithers?" asked Dr. Smith, as I sat in oblivious contemplation.

I looked up at her, startled. "Oh, pardon me. I was just thinking."

She nodded understandingly and asked, "About anything in particular? Anything you'd like to share?"

Vacillating, I opened my mouth to speak and my unspoken words hung like rain-filled clouds in the air. "Um…well, the night of the winter formal…I guess something did happen that maybe…well, I don't think it made me who I am, but it certainly contributed.

It started out as a flawless winter evening. The snow had been falling with gentility the entire day outside my window and sometimes I would just be impelled to cease my mind's inner clamor so that I could have at least a few moments of pure peace, just watching the miniature clouds of snow waterfall to the earth. But alas, my cognitive dissidence soon returned as I remembered that peace would be practically nonexistent that night.

I immediately felt the hot pressure of a closed fist against my weak stomach as I thought about the winter formal, and especially what I planned to pursue with Margery after it. Fortuitously, just as my abdomen felt like it had been stretched and wound around a dastardly metal pole, I heard a rock pelt my window and looked outside to see the beautiful face of my best friend staring up at me. 'I tried ringing your doorbell but no one answered,' called Ned from below.

I apologized quickly and made my way down the stairs to let him inside. He was already clad nattily in a traditional ebony tuxedo festooned simply with a heart-hued bow tie. He smiled that perpetual smile of his and shook my hand in greeting before staring at me like I was the oddest fellow he had ever met. 'Waylon! What's the matter with you?' he asked.

Instantly frightened by this sudden and exclamatory inquiry, I asked, 'What? What do you mean?'

'You're not even dressed for the formal yet! And we're picking the girls up in thirty minutes!' exclaimed Ned in a rare state of panic.

I smiled, scoffed, and shrugged. 'Calm down, Ned. It's not going to take me thirty minutes to put a tuxedo on.' I looked at him strangely and then beckoned him to follow me to my room. 'Come on. I'll chat with you as I get ready.'

Still looking a bit nervous, Ned nodded and followed me to my room. Once we got up there, he began to settle down, sitting on my bed and looking out the window as I got dressed. "So, you have my ticket and Maude's, right, Waylon?" asked Ned.

"Yep, they're right there in my wallet if you want to keep them with you," I answered unthinkingly as I buttoned up my shirt.

Ned reached for my wallet and upon looking inside for the tickets, suddenly let out a small gasp. "So, you've made your decision, I see," he said resignedly and a bit sadly, for reasons I was unsure of.

I looked over to see what Ned was referring to, and upon seeing the Trojan name scrawled across the wrapper in Ned's hand, I gasped and felt like a match had been scraped across my cheeks. 'Oh, I…' I began nervously. 'I…well, I just thought…it probably won't happen, but you know, just in case,' I lied, knowing very well that my mind was made up, but still not feeling confident about this fact to confess it to Ned, my little angel on my shoulder.

'Oh, okay,' replied Ned, obviously unconvinced. 'Waylon, why are you so eager to have sex when you're so young?'

I rolled my eyes and wished we would stop mulling over this. 'Because I'm a teenage boy with normal desires. Why is that so difficult for you to comprehend?' I asked, annoyed, but probably not truly at Ned.

Ned answered, 'It's not, but…I don't know.' Then his voice softened as he added, 'You know, you don't have to prove anything to anyone.'

At that point, I truly became afraid of Ned. How did he know that I was still questioning myself? No one had spoke a word about my homoerotic tendencies since elementary school. How could he possibly know? I turned to him in shock and trepidation and asked, 'What are you talking about, Ned? Prove what and to whom?'

He looked up at me through those big glasses with those big eyes and said, 'Never mind, Waylon. I just wanted to make sure you were doing this for the right reasons: because you love Margery and plan to be with her…'

I quickly interrupted, 'Yes, of course, I love Margery. I'm would never take advantage of her.' But even as I said it, I wondered if my statement was true. And I felt myself become swathed with guilt.

'Waylon?' asked Ned, proffering a much wanted interruption from my thoughts. I looked up from tying my bow tie and replied, 'Yes, Ned?'

And then came the simple question: 'Are you scared, Waylon?'

I turned away once again. I couldn't look him in those empyreal eyes of his. Instead I looked at myself in the mirror, checking for any imperfections in my appearance. And then I decided to answer my friend. 'No, I'm not scared, Ned.' Now I couldn't even look at my own reflection. 'I'm terrified.'"


	9. Chapter 9

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get a new chapter up. I hope you enjoy it:) Please read and review! Any comments are greatly appreciated. Thank you!

CHAPTER NINE:

"Ned looked up at me with sympathetic and concerned eyes, but before he could tender me either a consoling word or a protective musing, we heard our ride arrive outside my house. Exchanging one last uncertain glance at each other, Ned and I bounded down my stairwell and greeted the evening outside with exaggeratedly easeful smiles on our faces.

Timothy was our driver for the night, which was no problem with me, as I decided I was going to need some spiked punch at the dance to soothe my nerves. Timothy waved to us as we approached and coolly jumped into the backseat of his car next to our respective dates. Seeing Margery for the first time that night, I was taken aback. I always knew she was beautiful, but never had I seen her look so positively glamorous. Donned in a lime-hued gown that brought out the hint of sapphire in her eyes, Margery made it impossible for me to act cool.

'Margery, you…you look gorgeous. Lime green is really your color,' I stammered, to which Margery blushed, smiled, and replied, 'As do you. I mean, handsome, of course! Not gorgeous. Heh.'

I smiled back at her fumbling as I thanked her meekly and reached for her hand. To my left was Maude, who looked as striking as usual, and in the front seat next to Timothy sat his date, Helen Cresswell, who had somehow managed to look rather becoming herself. I had a feeling that we were all going to walk into the dance room as the belles of the ball, as the popular and beautiful group, and I was still bewildered that I was part of it.

The stark evening air chilled my bones and cut lovingly against my face as Timothy drove us quickly out of my driveway, down the long ink-hued road, and into the parking lot of the school. Some unidentifiable British pop could be heard bouncing off the walls as my friends and I walked towards the auditorium, handed our tickets to some characterless peers, and strode inside with buoyancy.

I could barely see past my hand in that room it so teemed with the gyrating bodies of the crowd. My group and I decided to endeavor to slope through the horde and over to the punch bowl at the other end of the dance floor. I wondered if it had already been spiked and hoped it was so that I wouldn't have to be the one to do it.

Pushing past the dancing couples with some belligerent resentment that bewildered even me, I was nearing the end of the floor, seeing the rose-colored liquid glisten from inside its crystal bowl. I looked behind me to see if my friends were succeeding as well as I had in slinking through the masses, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw that Margery was not even trying to travel through the crowd. She had instead stopped in the middle of the floor and was talking to some oafish guy I had never seen before.

The guy was standing there awkwardly; Margery though looked somewhat confident, giggling like the schoolgirl I had once captured the heart of. Envy at once commenced its augment throughout my body as I strutted back through the crowds and up to Margery.

'Ahem,' I groaned from behind her, to which she turned around guiltily.

'Oh, Waylon, hi…um…this is my friend, Homer,' stuttered Margery.

'Friend? I've never seen him before,' I said.

Homer then intercepted, 'This is your boyfriend, Margery?! He's a nerd! And he has gray hair! What are you, an old man?'

I narrowed my eyes at my new enemy. 'No, I was born with gray hair, and how do you know I'm a nerd? Just because I wear glasses? God, is_that _stereotype outmoded.'

Homer then chuckled like a little boy. It baffled me. 'You used the word 'outmoded'. Hehe. You're a nerd! Hehe!'

'Shut up, Homer. Come on, Margery,' I demanded as I took her hand and led her away from the lumbering idiot she for some reason seemed so charmed by.

As I poured her a glass of punch, I asked, 'So, who was that guy, Margery? You're friends?'

'Oh, not really, Waylon. I just met him tonight as I was trying to get through this crowd. It was nothing,' Margery explained.

I took a sip of my punch. It hadn't been spiked yet. Damn it. 'If you say so,' I mumbled.

'Waylon, come on, we were just talking for a minute,' Margery attempted.

'I know, I know,' I quickly said, but it didn't make much of a difference. Our awkwardness continued for a minute longer as I started wondering where our other friends were. Then I looked over to my girlfriend, placed my glass of punch on the table, and offered my hand. 'Do you reckon a square could get a dance?' I asked. She smiled and took my hand and soon we were dancing, everything normal again. But not for long.

As we danced, I couldn't help but notice that covetous Homer glancing over at Margery every thirty seconds even as he danced with some unsightly girl that certainly contributed to the creation of one homely pair. The worst part was that Homer's glances at Margery were not unrequited ones.

_Come on, Waylon. Margery's a beautiful girl, and you're in high school now. It's natural that other guys will like her. _And at that moment, another thought crossed my mind. _And it's just as natural for her to like other guys. You're not married. You're 14-years-old. You're children. _

'Waylon, is everything all right?' asked Margery worriedly, reading my expression accurately.

I stopped dancing for a moment and gazed into her eyes. 'I…I just need some air,' I said before leaving the floor. I stopped back at the punch table to see if my drink had been spiked while I was gone, but it still hadn't. So, it was my time to take matters into my own hands and my own bottle.

I had been drinking outside the auditorium for a good twenty minutes before anyone came looking for me. But soon I heard my favorite voice call out my name: 'Waylon? What are you doing out here?' inquired Ned as he began to approach me. I nervously tried to hide my bottle but it was no use. He had seen it, and I'd never seen him look so appalled.

'Waylon! You're…? Waylon, please tell me that it some type of apple cider…' said Ned as he sat next to me and stared at me in shock.

I was a bit too tipsy to really care though. I decided it was my occupation to be blunt, so I simply said, 'No, Ned. It's not apple cider. And I know it's not good for me. And I know I'm an idiot. But you know what? I really don't care anymore.'

'Waylon, what's the matter with you?'

'I just don't…I don't know what I was thinking. Wanting to have sex with Margery after the dance. I don't really know if I even love her enough and it's obvious she doesn't love me enough. See how concerned she is about me? I leave the dance floor sadly and she doesn't even try to get me to come back. No, sir, she's probably dancing it up with that stupid…stupid guy…that Homer. Yeah, he's really a catch. I bet they'll be very happy together,' I slurred.

'Maybe she just knew you needed your space. You know she loves you,' Ned attempted.

'Yeah, maybe. But I don't know if I really love her. Well, at least not the way I love…someone else,' I blurted out.

Ned stared at me. 'What are you talking about, Waylon?'

'Oh, come on, you're no idiot. You know that I've always been in love with someone else,' I said.

Shaking his head in incredulity, Ned responded, 'It's news to me….Waylon, who are you in love with?' I then looked into his eyes and took his hands. And for some reason, he didn't stop me when I kissed him.

I had no idea that Margery and Timothy had come out to check up on us. I had no idea that they were witnessing every desperate moment I was indulging in. And like always, I had no idea that my stupidity would change my life again for the worse. I had thought that I had perhaps finally shut self-hatred out of my life but I soon realized that I was going to be welcoming him back inside me, and he was going to be there to stay.


	10. Chapter 10

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing. Please read and review! Any comments are greatly appreciated. Thank you:)

CHAPTER TEN:

"As soon as I felt the melting stare of two pairs of eyes on us, I reluctantly but quickly ceased the kiss and turned to face owners of the gaping eyes. When I saw that they were Margery and Timothy, I immediately knew that my whole life was about to fall shattering down before me.

At first, we friends simply stared at one another with no words spoken between us and no sounds but the soft music playing inside and the sporadic pipe of a cricket outside. I, for a moment, looked past Margery and Timothy to the closed doors of the auditorium that I wished I had never left, to the closed doors of a world I knew I would never be a part of again.

Then Timothy spoke. 'Wayl—Smithers, I always knew that you were a queer in disguise, but…Ned?' The devastation and disgust in his voice was more evident than ever before as he glared at Ned with sad, judgmental eyes. As much as Timothy acted like Ned exasperated him at times, everyone could see that without Ned, Timothy was just another lonely boy who would have probably gone home every day to read his Bible and play with his toy trains in seclusion. To lose Ned would be to lose everything. At least that was one thing that Timothy and I had in common, if probably the only thing we ever would.

Ned immediately began to stutter as he said, 'No, no, Timothy, I'm not…He kiss—…I mean…it was…'

I then looked away desolately and mumbled, 'I kissed him, Timothy. And it's obvious that…it was a one-way thing. Leave him alone.'

Timothy countered, 'I don't think it was so obvious.' This gave me a bit of hope, but hope for reciprocation didn't really mean anything to me then. I then felt the cold stare of Margery's eyes on me. She had said nothing since she had seen it, and I couldn't bear to look at her now. Instead, losing all control of my physical actions, I found myself running. Away from the school, away from the parking lot, away from the girlfriend I betrayed, and away from the friend that I might have ruined. Unfortunately, I knew that no matter how quickly I moved my feet and no matter how great a distance I covered, I could not run away from the one thing that I most wanted to: myself.

I knew in my heart that running away was not the answer. I knew that it was probably the most cowardly thing I could have done, leaving Ned to answer to Margery and Timothy for the sin I committed. But I was beginning to realize that that is who I was: a coward. That's actually how I still am; I've never been able to conquer this spinelessness. In my current life, whenever I attempt to do something bold, I always push it under the rug afterward and hope to never speak of it again, too afraid that it will mirror the aftermath of my first kiss with Ned. It's all rooted in that. And it's pathetic that something that happened when I was a mere child would affect me even as a middle-aged man, but it's the truth." 

"It's not all at uncommon, Mr. Smithers, for events in your adolescence to dictate your personal patterns for even the rest of your life, especially if the event itself or its consequences were self-inflicted," said Dr. Smith, taking a break from her unremittingly scribbling on that fateful pad of lined paper.

I nodded at her response. "Well, they certainly were self-inflicted. But the worst part was that these problems weren't only inflicted on me; they affected everyone around me. On the night of the dance , after running away and wandering around for quite some time in deep contemplation of what happened, I ended up back at my house, which I had planned to quietly enter in attempts to reach my bed swiftly and try to drown out the night in a good, old-fashioned session of crying myself to sleep.

However, as I opened the door, I was surprised to see my father still awake, sitting upright on the couch watching the television. He glanced up at me and smiled as I walked in. 'Waylon, you're back from the dance already?' he asked curiously.

I was definitely not in the mood to talk to anyone and I was not in the mood to lie either, but alas, I stammered, 'The dance was kind of a bust. It wasn't as cool as we thought it would be, so we decided to leave early and get some late dinner.'

My dad accepted this response thankfully effortlessly and said, 'Well, I'm sorry to hear that it wasn't all it was cracked up to be, but at least you still had fun with your friends, right?'

I nodded and attempted a smile. 'Yeah, we still had fun. Um…but I'm rather tuckered out, so I think I'll be going to bed now.'

'Bed? Waylon, it's only 8:00. Come sit with me and watch this. It's a documentary about the ancient days of Mesopotamia,' offered my dad.

Afraid that I wouldn't be able to sit through another minute without tears trilling down my cheeks, I hesitated and considered just saying no to my father. But then I realized that this could very well be my last chance in my life to be happy with him. Tomorrow the news of my audacious display of sin would likely get around to him, and I could not even imagine what would happen when it did. This was my last chance to see my dad smile at me, to see him genuinely love me, and so I ambled over to the couch and sat beside him.

My stomach and heart felt sickened and constricted with the knowledge that this was it for me and my father. Every second that went by could never be attained again. It felt like all of the walls of the room were closing in around us with every moment; I knew I had to use my time wisely, but I couldn't think of much to say. Fortunately, my dad could.

'So, Waylon, how did Margery look tonight?' asked my dad.

I swallowed hard. 'She looked…' _Repulsed. Heartbroken._ '…simply gorgeous, Dad. As always.'

My dad smiled proudly. 'You got one great girl there, my boy. And you know what? She's got one great guy,' he said as he ruffled my hair playfully.

I felt my eyes become deltas. 'Thank you, Daddy,' I whispered. My dad laid a hand on me, a hand of loving. He hadn't beaten me since I was 10, but I knew that soon that statistic would be updated.

'Waylon, I've been thinking lately…I mean, this is your first real formal dance. You're in high school now, and it just seems like the time has flown so fast,' my dad began wistfully. 'And I was just thinking about you and the person you've become. You're almost an adult now, and it just…it's overwhelming to think about, isn't it?'

'It really is,' I answered. Words were lost on me completely.

My dad shifted a bit uncomfortably on the couch and then looked in my eyes. 'I want you to know that I'm proud of you, Waylon. There was a time that I was very scared for what kind of man you'd become, but seeing you how you are now, my fears have vanished. You're exactly now who I hope you'll always be. I love you.'

At that moment, I turned to my dad and began to weep in his arms. He stared at me with shock and genuine concern. 'Waylon, Waylon, what's the matter? Stop crying.' There was now a bit of edge in his voice, shame of my exhibit of what he considered effeminacy.

So, I tried to stop my lamentation and sniffed, 'I'm sorry, I just…I just wish that…' I looked up at him. 'Dad, will you always love me?'

Taken aback, my dad answered, 'Yes, of course. Why would you ask me that?'

I shook a bit in his arms and stuttered, 'What if I were to have done something that…what if I wasn't…?'

'Waylon, you're not speaking coherently. What are you trying to tell me?' demanded my dad.

I couldn't do it. I was too afraid, once again. I just couldn't bring myself to have this conversation, not now. I wasn't ready to greet a fresh scar in the morning. 'Nothing. Nothing. I'm sorry. I guess I'm just...I guess I just don't feel very well. I should go to bed.'

I slowly released myself from my dad's arms and strode to the stairwell, looking back at him as he continued to stare in confusion at me. 'Dad, I love you. I really do,' I tittered.

'And I love you, Waylon. Are you sure that nothing is wrong?' he asked a last time before I replied, 'Yes, I'm just tired. Good night, Dad.'

Entering my room soon, I collapsed on my bed and buried my face into my pillow. After a good long time of crying, I sat up and stared across the room into a mirror. I was a complete and utter mess. I looked into my own eyes and slowly said, 'God damn you. God damn you, you fag. I hate you. I hate you so much.' I then looked to my desk and took the baseball that sat upon it, the baseball Ned gave me on my twelfth birthday, the baseball my dad liked to throw to me in the cool dampness of early summer evenings. I took this treasured item and with it destroyed the image of the person I hated most, wishing it were that easy to destroy the living me that the pane of glass only dutifully reflected."


	11. Chapter 11

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing. Please read and review! Any comments are greatly appreciated. Thank you:) And also, I'm sorry for the story being so depressing as of late. It'll get less depressing, I promise. ;) Enjoy, and please review!

"The next morning I awoke with not only an anchor-heavy heart but also a crying-cum-alcohol-induced migraine headache. I had been lying in my bed, my face secreted in my now tear-laden pillow, when I first heard my unusual morning wake-up call: the syrupy ballad of the most beautiful blue bird I had ever seen. It actually sat upon the edge of my windowsill and sang to me. I had never had anyone or anything sing to me before…well, excluding the one time my parents took me to the Singing Sirloin for my birthday and I was offered a deafening rendition of "Happy Birthday" from the waiters instead of from the two people I had really wished would sing to me.

Anyway, the bird was staring into my eyes with these root-beer stones as eyes, just staring and singing, and I decided to just stare back. And I remember thinking, 'This bird isn't afraid of me. It isn't afraid to look into my eyes and see what is really in my soul.' I know now that it wasn't in all likelihood seeing anything beyond my hideous physical appearance, but at the time, the thought brought me no small amount of comfort. I guess I was just utterly desperate for comfort.

However, as I gazed into the loving eyes of my new friend, I knew that I would soon have to face the accusing eyes of my former friends. And so I decided to stare a little longer. I just couldn't mentally bring myself to get out of bed and face what I had done. So I stared at the bird. And stared. And stared. Until I forced myself to unthinkingly jump out of bed, throw on clothes, and race out the door to school before I convince myself to do otherwise.

Even when I was out the door, I didn't stop running. I sprinted the entire way to school, because I knew that while my legs were running, my mind couldn't be. While pacing through cutting winds and at unshakable speeds, my mind was not allowed to think heavily on almost anything, which was exactly what I wanted at this point in time. I had decided last night that along with any love I used to have for myself, introspection was an enemy and had to go. I knew that if I slowed my pace even a step, I would be tendered the chance to change my mind, the chance to be a coward again. So, I ran. And soon my feet seemed as if they were literally incapable of stopping, offering a few moments of liberty before I came face to face with the sterile block of granite that read "Welcome to Springfield High".

Catching my breath after my run, I slowly turned towards the entrance of the school where I saw masses of my peers chatting and laughing insouciantly together. I pushed my envy and fright to the bottom of my stomach and walked past them and into the building.

Fortunately, or perchance not so fortunately, my first two classes were devoid of any of my friends. I knew I didn't have to face Margery, Ned, or Timothy until we all had English class together third period, so my first periods comprised mainly just whispers about me from classmates I didn't give a fuck about anyway. Oh, I'm sorry. Pardon my language."

"No, it's quite all right, Mr. Smithers," Dr. Smith assured. "Just go on."

I took a deep breath and began once more. "Okay, well…so, I did hear the whispers and the comments and I did see the way everyone was looking at me, but that I could tolerate. They were just nameless, faceless creatures whose opinions meant something, but not much. Their words hurt, but they didn't kill, and so I sat through the two hours wishing more focused on the dreaded third period ahead of me.

I felt completely nauseated when the final bell of my second period had rung. If there had not been another class filling the classroom moments later, I may have not been able to get out of my seat. But alas, I was soon sitting in a different seat, in my English classroom, watching the door for Margery, Timothy, and Ned.

Ned ambled in first, immediately meeting my eyes and just as immediately reversing this action. He forfeited his usual seat next to me and sat down across the room, and my heart felt like its very blood was being pummeled out of it.

Next in came Timothy, alongside Helen. Both stood in the doorway for a moment and stared over at me as other kids passed by them. Helen, with her slanted eyes, looked upon me with disapproval but with a hint of compassion while Timothy's eyes read disgust and hatred throughout. Timothy's gaze remained fixated on me as he took a seat next to Ned and even as he talked with Ned, surely about me once again. I predicted that they had talked of practically nothing else all day.

Margery never walked in, and I stared at the door waiting for her to come in with a late slip or something, but she never came. I couldn't focus even slightly on the lesson being taught all period. While my peers' pencils scurried across pages and pages of paper, I just sat there and stared into the snow-hued abyss of the whiteboard, wishing I could detach from body and be inside that hollow plane of purity. It seemed like hours I spent staring at it before the bell rang, and I mechanically got out of my seat and headed towards the door. It was lunchtime now, and I wondered where the hell I could sit now that no one would want to sit in my propinquity.

I decided to find a place in the back of the school where no one ever sat. It was lonely and freezing back there, however, this dilemma was minor when I felt a cold hand on my shoulder and turned around to get punched in the face by Timothy. It wasn't really a surprise, but I had hoped that I had gotten past seeing Timothy without this happening. Wishful, stupid thinking, I know.

Without saying a word, Timothy continued to release his misplaced anger out on me through a beating that I didn't even attempt to fight against. I thought that I deserved it anyway, and it was surprisingly making me feel a little better. I just closed my eyes and took in the pain, until Ned intervened and tore Timothy off me.

'You should be ashamed of yourself, Timothy. Damn-diddly-amn ashamed!' exclaimed Ned as he helped me up and asked me if I was all right, although it was evident that I wasn't. I merely could nod and whisper a thank you before Ned turned back to Timothy and grabbed him by his collar.

'If you ever come near Waylon again, I swear you'll be sorry,' Ned hissed before letting go of Timothy and leading me away.

Once we had left Timothy behind, I began to stammer, 'Ned…thank you…I don't know what to say…'

'Say nothing,' demanded Ned coldly. 'And continue saying nothing to me for the rest of the time we're at this school together.'

I stopped dead in my tracks. 'What?'

'Waylon, don't you get it? You've ruined my whole reputation. The rumors have already coasted throughout the school, and you know what rumors do? They spread, they change, they grow…and soon you hear someone talking, and they're saying your name, but the person they're talking about is someone you don't even know,' Ned said.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I stuttered, 'Ned, it was only a kiss.'

Ned scoffed and shook his head. 'Waylon, in high school, there's no such thing as 'only a kiss'. Especially when this kiss occurs between two male-diddly-ales!'

'But Ned…I mean, come on…I…we can clear our names…I can tell the whole school that it was I and I alone who was actually enjoying said kiss,' I began, blushing terribly and trembling.

Sighing, Ned replied, 'It wouldn't matter what you told people. What's done is done. And so I think it would be best if we didn't associate anymore.'

I then panicked and offered the first argument that came to my mind: 'But Ned, I…I love you.'

Ned looked up at me with surprise and a painful hint of disgust as we stood there in silence, letting my proclamation sink in. I wondered if Ned would tell me he loved me back. I prayed to a God that I didn't even believe in that he would, but instead he just then looked away and said, 'Waylon, if you ever need something, you can still come to me. I will always be there to help you. But our friendship can't go on, and you know why. The feelings you claim to have for me are simply never going to be req—,' he paused and looked up at me apologetically, then softened his voice and said, 'It'll just be less painful this way.'

I nodded, although I disagreed with Ned's theory with every fiber of my heart. I couldn't imagine how anything could get more painful than losing my best and only real friend in the whole world. I couldn't say anything more, for fear of the lump in my throat displaying its presence, so I waited in disbelief and heartbreak for Ned's final words: 'Goodbye, Waylon.'"


	12. Chapter 12

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing. Please continue to do so! Any comments are greatly appreciated. Thank you:) I apologize for the short length of this chapter. The next will be longer. :)

"As if being disposed of by the boy I loved after being beaten by the boy I hated was not torturous enough, I was faced with the inevitability of both enduring the rest of the school day and then dreadfully what I knew would follow it: coming home to a dad ready to nearly kill my with his iron fists and a mom forbidding my sinful tongue to even eat off her plates. This was the scenario I had to look forward to, that is, after three more hours of feeling my forehead sweat under my peers' stares and wishing I was deaf when endless gossip struck my tired ears.

I managed to get through the rest of the school day at least physically unharmed, but emotionally less so. I remember standing in the front of my school after the bell of my French class had rung, watching that lemon-hued bus ride away with the owners of all the eyes that looked at me as if I had some contagious disease that whispered of scandal and death. I began to wonder if those accusations were true. If maybe I was just sick, literally sick. I started to think that maybe I should see a doctor, that perhaps there existed some magical anodyne to my desires, a cure for all my heartache and misery and for these damnable feelings that I wished I could knife out of myself. Hope inflated in my heart at the thought.

So before I headed home to my doom, I decided to pay Dr. Lussac a visit. He had been our family physician for as long as I could remember but we had never developed a very close relationship. He, like everyone else it seemed, had an innate sense to be rather cold to me. Maybe, as a doctor, he had always known about my disease and therefore thought it wise to keep his distance.

Nevertheless, he was the only doctor I knew, and therefore I found myself trudging into the familiar waiting and about twenty minutes later into his office.

'What seems to be troubling you, Mr. Smithers?' asked Dr. Lussac, the professionalism in his entire manner never ceasing to discomfort me. I mean, why couldn't he have called me Waylon? Why couldn't I be treated like all the other kid patients he had?

Anyway, I replied uncertainly, 'Well, I think I might have a disease. A plague somewhere. I can feel it, and it certainly would explain my recent behavior.'

'And what behavior might that be?' Dr. Lussac inquired flatly yet suspiciously.

I took a deep breath. I knew that to be cured one must first recognize the problem. 'I kissed someone…'

'You think you have mononucleosis?'

'No, no…It's that I…it was a…a boy…a male whom I kissed, and I think I may be sick. Not because of it. It's the other way around,' I said quietly, keeping my eyes focused on the immaculate tiled floor.

Dr. Lussac stared at me with those beady eyes of his actually widening a bit before he said without hesitation: 'We don't treat your kind here. Please remove yourself from my office.'

I can still remember the sensation of my mouth actually dropping open at this remark. I had used to presume that level of jaw-dropping only occurred in cartoons, but this occasion proved me wrong. 'You're denying me medical treatment?'

'You don't need medical treatment. You need a big Bible and a whole hell of a lot of Hail Mary recitations. Now please leave my office before I have to physically remove you from it,' Dr. Lussac demanded before I walked out in a daze, more hopelessness only increasing with the thought that Bibles and prayers were the only possible remedies for me. I knew for certain that those would never work. Not on me anyway.

Once out of the sterile building and into the deceptively warm outdoors of Springfield, I realized that there was nothing left to do but to go home and die. I wished that I could have apologized and said goodbye to Margery before leaving the earth, but I knew I was the last person she would want to see. I considered biding my time with a stop to the ice cream parlor or maybe just a long walk around the town, but this would not bid me any happiness. If I was going to be beaten to death, I would rather get it over with.

I placed my tiny hand over the icy doorknob and slowly turned it. My dad was standing in the shadows of the doorway as if he had been waiting there all day. My mom was nowhere in sight, not like she would have helped me anyway.

After a moment of silence, my dad spoke: 'You broke your promise to me, Waylon,' replied my dad.

I nodded in the darkness. 'I know…'

We paused again as my dad found the right words. 'You broke your promise to me, but I won't break my promise to you,' he finally bellowed.

And although my dad specifically told me then that he wouldn't break the promise he had made to me, the promise that he would kill me if I sinned in such a profound and perverted manner again, he did break it. He didn't kill me. Well…in some ways, maybe, but not in the traditional way. Somehow my body sustained the blows and the sputtering of 'Sodom! Sinner! Devil!' until I was but a heap of mangled skin laying against the wall my dad had already stained with my blood. He then told me that he was not going to finish the job. He would rather me live in the despair I had created for myself. But certainly not living under his roof.

As soon as I could lift my legs up my stairs, I packed my bags and left on my dad's request. I had no where I could think of going except one warm domicile that I had always considered more of my home than any other place. I just didn't know if Ned would be willing to take me in.

I weakly threw a rock up at Ned's window and was relieved by his hasty response to it. 'Waylon? Is that you?'

I only possessed the strength to nod.

Ned came down immediately and examined me. He couldn't even speak his horror. Neither of us said another word as he carried my bags up to his room and tucked me into bed."


	13. Chapter 13

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing. Please continue to do so! Any comments are greatly appreciated. Thank you:)

"It was only a few days later that my bruises' glaring garnet hues began to fade to a sickly but at least not as conspicuous brunette tinge, but my internal scars didn't begin to heal so fast. The three days I had lived with Ned were almost as painful as they would have been living nowhere at all. Because while Ned took care of me and treated me with civility, it became more and more evident that although I was a resident of his home, I was no longer a resident of his heart. And my increasing awareness of this fact was an agonizing thing to live with.

During the time I lived with Ned, I learned that being treated civilly is sometimes more heartbreaking than being treated cruelly. I could no longer make him smile or laugh, and he would constantly look at me with this one expression, as if we were attempting to wear a mask of blankness over the unrefined emotion I could sometimes see creeping beneath the corners.

I just wanted to shake him out of this indifferent trance he was under, but usually I reminded myself that it was I who put him under it. How did I expect him to act? Like nothing had happened? Like my stupid mistake didn't alter everything that we had spent years building between us? I was no idiot, and I knew that Ned would never be just my friend again. But I couldn't live with the civility. I couldn't live with the pretense of it all. The way he would talk to me as if we had just met, the effort I saw being utilized in his eyes as he strained to forefend sentiment from bleeding out of them…I couldn't live with it.

So, on my fourth night staying with him, I decided to tear the much-abhorred visage of apathy off his face. We had both finished taking turns getting changed into our pajamas in the bathroom and were getting into our beds comfortably, concurrently placing our glasses atop our drawers and pulling our covers tightly to our chins. With a tone of voice bordering on coldness, Ned bid me goodnight and turned off the light. However, instead of bidding a customary goodnight back, I said, 'Ned, would you like to leave Springfield with me tonight?'

Ned sat up in his bed and turned to look at me in the dark. 'Wh-what?'

'I've been thinking lately, Ned, and I've come to the conclusion that Springfield is what's holding us back. Just think about it. We have nothing to lose here anymore. Our friends have turned their backs on us, and all we really have is each other anyway. We could pack up tonight and walk to North Haverbrook, be there by morning…steal a van and live in it, work during the day, make love at night…'

'Waylon, what are you going on about? Springfield is our home, and I for one would never want to leave,' began Ned.

'Why not? Springfield isn't the place for people like us, Ned. It's filled with hypocrites and idiots and just plain kooks.'

'Those hypocrites, idiots, and kooks are our neighbors and friends you're talking about. Just because people are shunning you right now doesn't mean that they are bad people. They just don't understand you. And quite frankly, I'm beginning to find myself in that position as well,' Ned remarked.

I began to panic inside and said, 'Ned, these people will never stop condemning me for something that isn't even my fault…'

'But it is your fault, Waylon!' exclaimed Ned, much to both of our surprises. He quickly lowered his tone and explained, 'I didn't mean that like it sounded. I meant that you did choose to kiss me. No one made you do that. You knew that we both had girlfriends, you knew that people would assume we were both…that way…and yet you decided to do it anyway. What did you really expect would happen? That the town would dedicate a parade to you and throw confetti and congratulate you on your display of abnormality?'

Again, I was being asked what I expected. And once again, I couldn't answer. 'I wasn't thinking, Ned. I know it was stupid. But what's done is done, and now we can either move on or stay here in this mess.'

'We can move on without leaving town, Waylon. We can't just run away. I mean, have you even talked to Margery yet?'

I nodded. I had talked to Margery two days before when I was able to go back to school after recovering from my dad's wicked hands. She had been sitting on the curb after school waiting for the bus, and I dared to approach her. For a moment, it felt like old times. Just sitting with her after classes and admiring her beauty, but then she turned to me and I remembered by the gleam of sadness in her eyes how very different it now was.

'Margery…I…' I began. I knew not what else to say, despite the innumerable times the scene had played over in my mind each night, forbidding me from sleep.

Margery looked to her shiny cherry-hued flats and then back to me. 'Why didn't you tell me, Waylon?'

'Tell you what?'

'That you…err…preferred the company of men. That you were just using me to be popular. That you loved Ned so much more than me,' listed Margery.

'I didn't tell you any of those things because I would never lie to you,' I assured. 'I swear, Margery. None of those things are true.'

'Then what, Waylon?' Margery asked. 'Why? Because you weren't attracted to me?'

'No, I was…I am…' I attempted.

'Then what?'

I stopped. My mind felt like it literally came to an end. 'Because I…' I shook my head. 'I don't know why, Margery. I honestly don't.'

Margery mumbled, 'That's not a very good reason, Waylon.' We both sat on that curb for a few moments of silence that trudged by like slices of eternity before she asked me bluntly, 'Just tell me this: do you love Ned or was it just an drunken impulse?'

I knew that if I just told her it was a drunken impulse, she would most likely forgive me, and we could try to be happy together, but I couldn't lie to her. So I really had no choice when I told her I did in fact love Ned.

Her expression looked as if she had been just injected with a hepatitis shot. But she just nodded and continued, 'And if you had to choose between Ned and me…who would you want to be with?'

Although Ned had clearly told me that he didn't reciprocate my feelings, I couldn't let the possibility go. And so I whispered my choice, hating myself for telling her the truth.

And that was all it took. She nodded sadly and left to catch the bus. There was so much in my heart that I wanted to tell her but never got the chance to, and I know that she still to this day probably thinks I never really loved her. But she's wrong. I did. I just loved Ned too, and perhaps more, but…I did love her and I never meant to hurt her so.

I told Ned this account of what happened with Margery and he just looked like he felt sorry for me. So I said, 'Ned, I think we should talk about what happened. It's been almost a week since it happened and yet you and I still haven't had one conversation about it.'

'I think we already did talk about it, Waylon. After I stopped Timothy from beat-diddly-eating you up,' he replied confusedly.

'Well, I thought during that instance, we talked around it instead of about it. I know you said you didn't feel the same way, but when I kissed you, you didn't stop me.'

'I suppose I didn't.'

'So…can you just tell me? Once and for all…how do you feel about me, Ned?"


	14. Chapter 14

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing. Please continue to do so! Any comments are greatly appreciated. Thank you:)

"Ned looked up at me for a moment, poignant apology already manifest in his eyes. The answer was right there in those eyes, but I still needed to hear the words, which were delivered hastily: 'Waylon, I'm not that way. The Bible forbids it. You know that very well.'

'You're telling me that you'd rather obey what some unaccredited, duplicitous book tells you than what your own heart does?'I asked.

Ned sighed and put a hand to his forehead. 'It's not like that. It's not so black and white. It's complicated.'

'Complicated how, Ned?' I persisted. 'It doesn't have to be complicated at all. Just tell me how you feel. Not what you think; how you feel.'

'I don't know how I feel, Waylon, and that's why it's complicated. I've never once in my life even considered the possibility of being with another guy, I don't even know what to think…'

'To feel,' I corrected. 'I'm asking you what you feel. Without hesitation, without thinking about what is right or what would happen or anything else. Just tell me how you feel, for God's sake,' I demanded, wondering if perhaps Ned really would tell me for the sake of the one that I assumed he obviously and unfortunately loved more than any living person. I hoped then that with his next words he would proved my assumption wrong.

He didn't.

'Waylon, you're the best friend I've ever had in my life, and I…do love you very much. In a passionately but purely platonic way. I don't know if it could be more than that or not…this whole notion of being attracted to girls and boys is just too much for me to even comprehend. I wonder if it could be true for me, but I don't want to think about it, and so I don't think about it. Ever. I make it a point to never cross that boundary, even in the seclusion of my own thoughts, because I know that in the end, I'm going to choose my faith,' Ned replied. 'If you and I were to run away to North Haverbrook together and do those things you said…I have to admit, the prospect does sound…intriguing. But our union wouldn't last forever, and that's a diddly-darn fact, Waylon. I'd lose you somewhere down the line and by then, I would have already lost my God. You may forgive me someday for my rejection of you, but I don't know if God could forgive me for my rejection of him. And that's why I don't contemplate it, I don't want to know how I feel, and I can't be what you want me to be.'

Umpteen retorts about the nature of God and the differences between such a being and the lie-proffering church immediately rushed to my mind, but I knew it was no use to speak them. Ned had made up his mind and nothing I could say would make him consider differently. He was a man of God and by the chuch's mentality, I was just short of Lucifer. I should've been thankful that he was even talking to me at all after what I did. So, I kept my longing lips shut and only nodded in reply.

As the lights went out once again, I lay in bed; my heart feeling like it had stopped and frozen inside the blackness of my soul, my body shaking although I was well-clad in the heavy blankets Ned had given me. For quite some time, I just lay there, thinking about Ned's words as they cycled assiduously in my mind.

I tried to close my eyes and think of something else, but all that came to me was the next day I was going to have to face at school, seeing Margery in the halls and avoiding her glance, sitting in the auditorium at lunch where Timothy couldn't find me, hearing the knife-like rumors that were now beginning to die down but only needed one off beam move—tidying up my desk too carefully, doodling hearts on my math paper, smiling at a guy the wrong way—to be resuscitated.

Before I could think twice, I was on a train to North Haverbrook. Running away yet again. As aware as I was of the cowardice that lived within me, I felt like I had no choice but to follow its lead. And then a thought hit me: I may have been a coward, but Ned was a greater one. He was too damn scared to listen to his heart, the one influence worth listening to. He very well could not have had any homoerotic tendencies whatsoever, but it was the fact that he refused to find out that infuriated me.

I guess the expression on my face as I thought about the night's event was one of apparent discontent, because soon I was startled by a lisped voice asking me what was bothering me. I turned to my left in surprise and saw a teenage boy sitting besides me on the train. I hadn't even noticed when he sat down I was so drowning in my thoughts.

Recollecting myself, I mumbled, 'Oh, it's nothing really. Just some problems with my friend. And family. And…' I looked at him and he looked genuinely interested in what I was saying. That was surely a different feeling. 'And…um…nothing. It's nothing. Thank you for your concern.'

'Anytime, my friend,' the boy said jovially. Then his countenance became sullen. 'You're not running away from home, are you?'

Taken aback and becoming defensive by his candor, I said, 'What business is it of yours?'

'Sorry, sorry, I was just wondering,' he replied.

I hesitated and then sighed, 'I'm sorry. It's been a rough day, and I'd rather not recount it. But yes, I am running away from home. There's nothing for me there.'

'Where are you running to?'

'North Haverbrook. Why?'

'That's where I'm going too,' he said with a wide grin. 'I'm John,' he said as he offered me his hand.

I hesitantly shook it. 'It's nice to meet you, John. I'm Waylon.'"


	15. Chapter 15

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: Thank you all for reading and reviewing! It really means a lot to me. I'm sorry for the very short length of this chapter; the next will be longer, I promise. :) Please continue read and review. Thank you:)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:

"I noticed uncomfortably that John had been holding onto my hand for a bit too long as we introduced ourselves. I then took my hand away and linked it with my other in my lap.

'So, um…why are you going to North Haverbrook?' I attempted when I noticed John's expression altered slightly as I drew my hand away.

'Well, I live there actually. I was just spending the night at my friend's house. Things didn't go so well, and he asked me to leave, right there and then, so I did,' John said, his previous confidence stripped from his voice.

I eyed him curiously but said nothing. I then turned to the window beside me, gazing at the almost platinum, smoky night sky and now seeing the weighty downfall of rain that I had previously only heard as it tap-danced upon the top of the train.

I shivered in my emerald trench coat and turned back to John. 'So, you…um…how do you like North Haverbrook?' I asked, trying to be friendly although I really was not in the mood to be.

'It's decent, I guess. So, you're gay, right?' John asked casually. My heart almost stopped.

'Wha—what?'

'Well, you are, aren't you?'

I could feel my yellow skin change its color drastically. 'No, no, I'm not. Why would you say that?'

John shrugged. 'Just got the impression.'

I narrowed my eyes at him. 'Well, I'm not.'

'Okay, okay, I'm sorry! Keep your top on!' exclaimed John.

My stomach churned as I turned to the window and trembled again_. Was it that obvious? God, I didn't think it was that obvious. _My thoughts were suddenly racing at a million kilometers per second and I felt dizzy.

'Waylon?'

I turned to John angrily. 'What?'

'I'm sorry for my assumption. You just seemed gay.'

Clenching my fists, I demanded, 'How do I seem gay to you, _John_?'

He looked at me with fearful eyes and stuttered, 'Um…well, you just seem so terribly uncomfortable with yourself.'

'What?'

'I'm just good at reading people,' he attempted.

'Obviously you're not, because I'm not gay, and who the hell do you think you are to say that I seem terribly uncomfortable with myself?' I persisted, my repressed anger at my dad and Ned and Timothy and everyone else in Springfield bubbling over.

John almost cowered upon hearing the tone of my voice and peeped, 'I said I was sorry! It wasn't meant to be an insult, babe!'

'Don't call me that!'

'Why not?'

'Because it makes me feel…' I began, but then I decided to turn back to the window, my only solace from reality. 'You just obviously don't get it, John. So leave me alone.'

And for a while, he did leave me alone. We sat next to each other on the ride to North Haverbrook, a ride that seemed amaranthine in its perpetuity. Neither of us spoke a word, although even as I focused on the sights and sounds of the clouds' tears, I couldn't help but feel John's glance on me every now and then. I also noticed that he talked to no one else, despite there being two perfectly friendly-looking teenagers sitting next to him.

I pretended not to notice either of these things and would have continued in this manner, my feelings drowned out by my thoughts and my thoughts drowned out by the rain, but I guess John wasn't as comfortable with such introspection because soon enough, he spoke once again.

'I do get it,' he said.

I turned my head to him. 'What?'

'You said I didn't get it, but I do. You hate yourself for being gay so you deny it altogether. I get it,' he mumbled.

I shook my head and sighed, replying: 'That's not it at all, John.' I looked him in the eyes and elaborated, 'You don't even know me, so why are you doing this? Trying to talk to me and make me admit that I'm something I'm not? Is it just because you're so damn insecure with your own obvious homosexuality?'

For a moment, John tendered no response, but of course, that didn't last long. 'I guess I just thought that for once I wasn't the only queer in the room. And I got to admit, that thought made me feel really good inside.'

I folded my hands nervously in my lap and hesitantly admitted, 'Well, I do...I am…I'm not gay, but…dear God, I'm in love with my best friend and he doesn't even…' I stopped there, closing my eyes and breathing deeply to help murder the probability of my emotions getting the better of me again.

John stared at me as if I was some fascinating specimen. 'Waylon, I'm sorry for what I said.'

'I'm sorry too, John. I know it probably sounded like…I don't know, like I thought being gay was a complete insult, but I…I'm just so afraid.' I couldn't believe that I was admitting any of this to a complete stranger but despite the perhaps unwarranted anger I felt toward John, I felt as if I could tell him anything without fearing judgment. I guess that's because I knew he had probably faced judgment all his life, and only two types of people are formed from ridicule and misunderstandings: those who ridicule and misunderstand in turn and those who become the kindest people you'll ever meet. Somehow I knew that John was the latter.

After a few minutes of another elongated silence, John asked, 'Where are you staying in North Haverbrook?'

Thankful to be off the subject of sexuality, I quickly replied with a relieved chuckle: 'I was thinking about stealing a van and living in it until I can get a job or something.'

'Don't do that, Waylon,' John said. 'I already stole a van last year. And there's plenty of room for two.'"


	16. Chapter 16

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: Thank you all for reading and reviewing! It really means a lot to me. Please continue read and review. Thank you:)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:

"'What impelled you to steal a van, John?' I asked. Judging from his nattily-dressed and dewy-faced exterior, he didn't look quite as messed up as me, but the theft he had just confessed to made me wonder if appearances were as mendacious as the all the other liars I had known in my life.

'My dad kicked me out. Caught me with Ben. In my parents' bed, for God's sake. I don't blame him for never wanting to see me again,' answered John.

'Oh,' I uttered. 'That must have been…awkward.' At this point in my life, I hadn't fully developed my social skills yet and was often left with the only the least compassionate things to say.

John didn't seem to mind though. He merely nodded and said, 'Most awkward and humiliating moment of my life.'

'Then why are you telling me about it?' I asked, unable to fathom why someone would divulge their deepest secret and most shameful experience to someone just short of a complete stranger.

John's response: 'Because you asked me. And because I've never been able to tell any of my other friends, and I needed to get it off my shoulders.'

'Other implies that I'm included in said friends.'

'Well, that's good, because that's what I meant to imply.'

I then looked at John the way others had so often looked at me. 'John, we just met today…'

'And?'

'Well…friendship isn't something that can just be planted, watered, and bloom in one day.'

Now John looked confused, but moreover hurt. 'I'm letting you stay with me without rent or expectation, Waylon. And yet you don't consider me your friend?'

I stammered, 'No, that's not…I mean, I appreciate that very much. Don't misunderstand me. I just…' I supposed it was time for me to trust him with something beyond the skin-deep plane of discourse I had tried to maintain. 'Well…I…I'm terribly afraid of getting close to people. I've yet to have a friend who hasn't either betrayed me or broken my heart, so I've decided to be very cautious about this thing called friendship. Even more about love.' I then realized that love had nothing to do with what we were talking about and felt myself blush about five shades of apple.

'Oh…well, Waylon, I won't betray you. I promise. So, are we friends?' he said.

'You make it sound so simple.'

'Well, it is. I promised, and I keep my promises. So…? Friends? Pretty please?' asked John.

'I don't know if I can…' I began. 'I still believe that you can only call someone your friend when they have proven to truly be one. Words are words are words, John. Promises mean nothing at all.'

With wide eyes, John replied, 'Whoa, you're quite the existentialist, Waylon.'

This statement piqued my interest. 'Existentialist? Well, yes, I consider myself to be one. Not many of my peers know about existentialism.'

John laughed. 'I'm not the idiot you assume me to be.'

'I didn't mean it like that. I just…' I sighed. I could never say anything right. Never. 'What school do you go to?'

'I went to Byrons. It's a private academy.'

''Went'? How old are you?'

'15. And I _went_ there because I was expelled about a month before my dad kicked me out.'

This guy was just full of surprises. 'What did you do?' I inquired. 'I mean…if you feel comfortable telling me.'

'For some reason I do,' John said with a smile. 'And the reason is that I was caught with a little Mary Jane in the locker room.'

'A girl?'

Once again, I made John laugh, and unintentionally. 'No, Waylon. Marijuana.'

'Um…that still sounds like a girl's name to me,' I admitted, ashamed of my ignorance.

'You've never heard of marijuana? It's a drug.'

'Like medicine?' God, how I hated acting so ridiculously stupid in front of John, in front of anyone. Ignorance was always what I viewed to be the worst trait someone could possess, and yet I seemed to possess it.

'No, like…like…the illegal kind,' he offered.

Still a bit confused, I responded, 'I guess you'll just have to show me what you're talking about then.'

'I certainly will. I think you'll really like it.'

The discomfort that had begun to rise from my stomach returned quickly, but before I could question John any more about his expulsion or acts of indecency, the train stopped in North Haverbrook and soon John and I were roaming the streets.

The blinking blood-hued lights and saxophone-laced music that were immediately bombarded at me as I looked around the town made me know instantly that I didn't belong. Clad in a crisp, white shirt and a preppy gray sweater that I had knit myself, I noticed the tie-dyed bags of thread that hung over many frail-looking bodies, the dark bandanas over their heads, the ripped jeans covering their feeble thighs, and most notably the dazed and foreign look in their eyes.

'We're home, Waylon,' John said excitedly as he steered me to his van, forcing me to take my eyes off the all the odd creatures on the streets. There were two girls standing outside the van, dressed similarly to everyone else in this part of North Haverbrook with the addition of cigarettes in their dainty hands.

'Do you know those girls, John?' I asked, a bit fearfully.

'Oh, yeah. We go way back,' he said as we approached closer. 'Edna. Ruth. This is my new friend, Waylon. He's going to be staying here for a while.'

Edna, a short little firecracker with an odd pixie hair-style and an obvious aura of sensuality, offered her free hand to me and smiled. 'Nice to meet you, Waylon. I'm Edna.'

'Hi, Edna. It's my pleas—'

'And I'm Ruth,' interrupted the lanky brunette besides Edna, similarly oozing with undeniable sex appeal and confidence. I wondered how someone like John could be friends with such specimens, but then again, John certainly had a bravado all his own. I wondered what exactly the set-up was here. Just friends? Friends with merits? Orgies day and night? My mind started to wander.

To attempt to receive an answer to my question, I tried in a suggestive tone of voice, 'So…you guys all live together…?'

'Not physically. Edna and I live down the street. But in the greater sense, yes, that's exactly what we do. Live. Truly. Have you ever lived, Waylon?' Ruth asked.

I had a suspicion that this was a trick question, so I hesitantly answered, 'Well…probably not in the way that you have.'

'And what way would that be?' asked Edna with a grin.

I stuttered, 'W-well, you just seem very, um…alive.'

John looked over at me with an expression I hadn't seen from him before. It was a merging of confusion, which I had definitely seen from him before, and something else. Jealousy? Disapproval? I wasn't quite sure, but I had a feeling that I should back off from his friends. And quickly.

'Well, you would be right about that, Waylon. Stick with us and you'll learn to live too,' offered Ruth.

John then interceded, 'Edna, Ruth, can I have a minute with you?' They nodded. John turned back to me once more. 'Just make yourself comfortable in the van, Waylon. I'll be right back.'

I watched as John and his friends talked in whispers and soon I went inside the van to unpack my things. I unloaded my clothes, some books, and a single photograph of me and Ned, standing outside the Flanders domicile, arms around each other in an embrace that I had always wondered about the nature of. How many male friends hugged each other that way? I wondered. But now my wondering and my hope were beaten to death by Ned's certainty that nothing between us _ever_ was anything more than friendly. I thought about all the years I had wasted wondering about every little instance that seemed to offer me hope of reciprocation. All the years I had wasted. All the years I had failed to live.

I decided then that that was going to change. That I was going to change. To hell with being good and kind and decent, I thought. All that ever gave me was years of being dead inside, and more than anything, I wanted to be alive. And although I had never gotten what I wanted before, I had a feeling that that too was about to change.

'Sorry about that, Waylon. So, are you ready to check out the town with me?' asked John, entering the van. 'I can show you some things I think you'll…really like.'

I held the photograph in my hand and looked at it a final time before returning it to my suitcase and locking it in. I then pulled off my embarrassing sweater, looked up at John and said, 'I'm more ready than you know.'"


	17. Chapter 17

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: I'm sorry for the extremely long delay in posting any new chapters. I've been very busy with school, writing my novel, et cetera, but I've decided to start adding to my fics again. Thank you all for reading and reviewing! I'm sorry that I haven't been able to get back to each of your reviews individually, but please know that each one means a lot to me, and I hope you continue to read and review. Thank you. :)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:

"So, John took me to this club, this seedy little place, and my eyes had never been exposed to such surreal and bewildering sights. It was just…the people there were so different from anyone I had ever interacted with. They were the antilogies of everything I had ever been taught to believe was normal and right, and I was more than intimidated to interact with any of them.

Despite having abdicated my preppy sweater in exchange for a leather jacket and plain white tee ensemble that John let me borrow, and despite having spiked my tresses in an attempt to present an edgier hairstyle, I knew that I was still the same Waylon Smithers, the same boy that had spent most of his childhood and adolescence learning about theology, stopping by the local ice cream parlor for a sundae before heading home to either study or play cards in his tree house, singing Neil Sedaka songs in the shower, waiting for American Bandstand to come on every week…in brevity, I knew that no matter how earnestly I tried to change my appearance, changing myself in its entirety would be a long and convoluted process.

The thought stung my heart momentarily, but then I realized that I was up for the challenge. My past self couldn't hold me back, as long as I remained focused on altering my soul effectively. So, I tried to hide the fear that was likely present on my face at the sights of what John told me was a 'rave'. I tried to let the new sounds of music I had never heard of before sink into my mind as I strut across the floor with John, feeling slightly nauseated at the plethora of neon lights that shone down upon all the crazed faces that surrounded me.

'John, um, I know I said I was ready for all this, and I am…but…what exactly _is_ all this?' I asked quietly, as not to give my naïveté away to anyone who hadn't already figured it out yet.

John chuckled. 'Waylon, there's no definition for all this. It's just a way of life.'

'Well, although I wish they weren't, these lights are beginning to give me a headache, and this music sounds like nothing more than a mass of shouting,' I offered.

Again, John just laughed and replied, 'Well, maybe the choice of this lifestyle will make more sense to you once you fly the Mexican airlines.'

'We're going to Mexico?' I questioned incredulously.

For the third time, John laughed in my face, and I was beginning to grow irritated with it. 'No, silly. It means to smoke a little bazooka.'

'The bubble gum with the comic strips inside the wrapper? And please don't laugh at me if I'm wrong, John.'

Thankfully, he didn't laugh, but it was evident that he was suppressing more giggles when he answered, 'It's marijuana, Waylon. Don't you know what that is?'

I looked down to the floor, swarming with dancing feet around me and inched closer to John. 'I do, to some degree, but all I know of it is from rumors about the kids from the wrong side of the tracks that do it.'

'Well, welcome to the dark side, I guess, Waylon,' John said as he offered me a stick of cannabis.

And because I was devoted to my plan of self-reinvention, I took a puff—albeit maladroitly—as John watched with that omnipresent grin on his face. After a while of doing nothing except inhaling, exhaling, and letting the music pound into my brain cells, I began to feel the effects I presumed John was so excited about me feeling.

My heart rate had increased and yet I felt so at ease as a waterfall of calm came cascading down upon me. My vision too was becoming distorted, and colors weren't just colors anymore. Every red was a blazing apple, every blue a loud sky, every white a blinding sheet of lambency. I could almost see the waves of movements that followed each turn or thrust or sway someone created. And the faces of the people began to look different as well. John suddenly was looking rather scrumptious to me. I mean, he had already been attractive, but only then did I feel at ease enough to tell him that I thought so.

'You know, John,' I began unthinkingly. 'You look very groovy tonight.' 'Groovy' was a new catchword that I had first heard that night, and I thought I was being super-cool using in front of John. I suppose he thought so too, or he just really had it bad for me, because the casual grin had been stripped off his face, and in its place was a bashful and insecure one.

I hadn't planned on flirting with John when I first arrived at the party with him. I was obviously still sore and sickened by the heartbreak Ned had imposed on me, but then, after a little flying on the Mexican airlines, I felt myself grow hungry. And it wasn't just the customary munchies, although those soon hit me as well. But no, this was a different kind of hunger. The kind that made me whisper: 'You want to blow this Popsicle stand and go back to your place, John?'

He looked surprised at this comment, but it was a happy surprise, nothing akin to the variety of surprise that Ned had on his face when I made him a similar offer. It also didn't last as long. Soon, John was back to smiling comfortably and leading me out the door, only this time he took my hand as we strode out.

When he did that, it really hit me what I might have been getting myself into. I had never held hands with anyone besides Margery, and the warmth that surged through my palm as I walked out of the party reminded me of her. I saw her big, sad eyes again, her long, silky blue hair plaited in a braid as beautiful and complicated as that girl herself.

I stopped for a moment, in this reflection of Margery, and John noticed my newly saddened expression.

'You all right, Waylon?' he asked, and I noticed the genuine concern in his voice as opposed to his usual, more facetious attitude.

I realized he had not let go of my hand yet and considered being the one to pull mine away from his, but somehow, I couldn't bring myself to. It just felt so nice there. I think it's only natural that, as humans, our hands feel their best when intertwined with those of another…it doesn't really matter who that person is sometimes, it just feels too right and warm and good and pure, even during those times when neither of the people are quite any of those things.

And that's how I felt with John. He wasn't perfect like Ned and Margery; he was caring, but he was also shallow; he was brave to live his life the way he desired, but he was also cowardly in the way he went about it; he simply was nice but also naughty, and I felt that—in this regard—I could relate to him more than I could anyone from my past life.

So, I didn't pull my hand away. And I erased the image of Margery from my mind, offering John a forced smile and telling him that I was fine. He didn't seem very convinced, but he didn't ask me any more about it, and we were silent during the entire ride home.

As we parked John's old, dilapidated van in the city from which it came, we were officially home. Still feeling slightly dizzy from my first pot-smoking experience, I felt my headache return and it didn't mix well with the mass of nerves that were fighting with each other in the pit of my stomach. I looked to John, who I suppose had been staring at me for a few moments.

I wasn't sure exactly what he had expected from me at that juncture, but I thought that if I—a reasonably innocuous and sheltered boy—had thoughts of sex rolling through my mind both with Ned and Margery, that John surely had deserted his virginity long ago, and was likely expecting to rob me of mine. Or if he wasn't already thinking that, I was fairly certain he wouldn't be opposed to the idea if I were to voice it.

So, I knew it was my decision of how much I wanted to be stolen from me that night. By attending the rave, giving into the poisonous world of drugs, even holding a boy's hand, I had already let John rob me of most of my virtue. I had already been drinking steadily since I was about 13, so that was also gone. My sexual purity was about the only one I had left to abandon, and I wasn't sure if I was ready to bid goodbye to yet one more aspect of myself that I could never get back.

'Waylon,' John began, finally breaking the tense quietude that enveloped us. 'You said you wanted to come back here, so…um…what did you have in mind?'

'I…I…' I stammered. 'I'm not sure. Exactly. Um. What did you have in mind?'

'I'm up for anything, Waylon. It's the only way to live, I think.'

I bit my bottom lip and tried to concentrate upon the decision at hand, but all the events of the past days—hell, of my whole life, really—were clouding my judgment. Then I realized that Waylon Smithers, by definition, was one of those guys whose thoughts were organized, whose actions were passive, whose emotions were rarely acted upon. And I remembered that my mission was to become the antithesis of myself. I had to thrive on the convolution of my thoughts, I had to take what I wanted when I wanted it, I had to let passion conquer over reason.

So, with this thought in mind and the need for some type of love in my heart, I placed my hand upon John's and once again let that longed-for warmth make me feel reborn, all the while hearing my mind murmur: 'Goodbye, Waylon Smithers. It was nice knowing you.'"


	18. Chapter 18

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: Thank you all for reading and reviewing! I'm sorry that I haven't been able to get back to each of your reviews individually, but please know that each one means a lot to me, and I hope you continue to read and review. Thank you. :)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:

I wasn't really inclined to tell Dr. Smith about the event subsequent to my farewell to my former self. I really couldn't bring myself to tell her the details of the clumsy lovemaking that occurred between John and me that night, and I had a feeling she wouldn't really care to hear them anyway. Besides, it wasn't the details that affected me; it was the general event in itself, and that much I had told her. A beautiful woman like her could easily piece together the rest if she so desired for some unknown reason.

So, all I told her was that it was expectedly awkward and clumsy…well, at least I was. "John seemed to know what he was doing, predictably, although even he acted a bit shy about the whole thing," I told Dr. Smith. "I had been so nervous and unsure, which struck me at the time as a warning to reconsider the actions I was taking, since I had had no qualms whatsoever in regards to losing my virginity to Ned, if he had let me. I mean, I barely knew John at all, and I knew it was probably the stupidest decision I was ever going to make (although I was later proved very wrong), but I pushed my fearful thoughts aside and remained loyal to my decision.

And despite its gracelessness and discomfort, the event itself was…well, it was…you know. Nice." I blushed, still disbelieving that I was telling a woman I had only known for a month about this private experience. But if I could tell her about the time I wore my mom's dress or about my first kiss with Ned, I guess sex wasn't too personal to discuss.

_Then what is too personal? _I wondered. I began to worry that soon this woman would know everything there was to know about me.

"Mr. Smithers?" she asked, after I had been silent.

"Sorry. Um…well, so…it wasn't a complete letdown or anything. It was very strange, but…good. Well, it was…so surreal. I felt like I couldn't even think during the whole thing; I was so disconnected and dazed. Only afterward, when I was lying in John's sleeping arms, could I stop to think. I tried my best not to, however. I knew that if I though too long about it, I would hate myself for it. Losing my virginity…such a huge event in my life, and it yet it was just impulsive and fun and not at all how I dreamt it would be.

I always visualized something more romantic and deep, with someone I loved, you know? But it just happened. And it didn't really make me feel anything besides sexually satisfied. I expected a whirlwind of emotions, like I usually had about everything in my life, to accompany such an experience, but as I laid there in the night, I just felt empty. This disturbed me, but I tried to accept it as just part of my new lifestyle. I tried to accept that nothing would mean as much as it used to. I tried to embrace the emptiness as a sign of a more peaceful existence.

It was really the aftermath that got to me for a while. The next day, John and I didn't know at all how to act, so we attempted to carry on with our day normally. We met Ruth and Edna down at a local park, where they were already lying stretched out on the grass, blowing billows of smoke into the otherwise lucid air. John and I, who hadn't said much at all on the ride over, lied down next to the girls and accepted their offer of cigarettes.

Edna immediately asked, 'So, why did you guys leave the party so early last night?'

'Early? It was 9:00!' I exclaimed. They all stared at me, perplexed. I feigned laughter and replied, 'Guys, chill. I was just kidding.' They smiled weakly. I felt like such an imposter.

Then Edna persisted, 'Well, why did you leave so early then?'

'Why do you care?' asked John.

Ruth giggled and intercepted, 'Because we think something happened last night in that van of yours that you should tell us about!'

Nervously, I asked, 'What gives you that idea?'

'Come on; we saw you leaving holding hands.'

'We were just trying to make it through the crowd in one piece; that's all,' I stammered.

Edna let out her infamous 'Ha!' before scoffing, 'That's so bogue, man. We aren't stupid.'

John smiled easily and said, 'Well, fine. Waylon and I did it last night. Now can you do me a solid and hand me a doobie and shut up, man?'

My hung open at John's honesty and how quickly it was offered. Ruth and Edna looked rather shocked themselves, probably at the confession's content more than its honesty, though.

'Waylon? You're a fag too? Bitchin',' said Ruth, nodding her head coolly.

Edna scoffed again. 'Bitchin'? Waylon's pretty famoo, if you ask me. What a waste,' she said lowly before puffing on her cigarette again.

A bit taken aback, I stuttered, 'Well, I…I'm like a scientist: very experimental.' I offered a chuckle and was relieved that this time they actually chuckled along with me.

'I can dig that,' Edna said seductively afterwards before blowing out a perfect ring of smoke.

I smiled uncomfortably, wondering if John was all right with this flirting. I turned to him and saw that he was just staring up at the sky, exhaling smoke slowly, as if in a peaceful daze. It was all so confusing to me, and I had no idea how to act with these people. Everyone seemed so mellow with them, and mellowness was foreign to me.

But soon I learned from my new friends how to take life with a grain of salt. My days became filled with nothing but drugs, partying, and sex. I became very much in touch with the hedonistic and selfish part of myself, although I still had someone to care about: John and I decided to go steady after our second intimate night together.

I stopped feeling guilty about a lot of things that I used to, although one thing always got to me. Sometimes when John and I were…together, well, I would be thinking of the one I truly loved. At first, this emotional cheating happened too frequently, but as time moved on, it slowly died down until John was the only one I allowed inside my mind.

That is, until I saw the face once again, that face that had become a mere fond yet painful memory.

My friends and I had been walking downtown to check out a new disco club that opened two days prior when I saw him, with all of the old gang. They were inside a little ice cream shop, and Margery was up ordering what she wanted, while the others were already sitting down chatting. I stopped in my tracks and stared.

Firstly, at Margery. She looked beautiful and wide-eyed, like she hadn't changed at all since I last saw her, which was well over a year ago now. The only major difference was her hair; instead of showing off the extremely long, glossy, blue tresses I had run my fingers through so many times, Margery sported an edgy bob cut and a sassy side bang. I then noticed her clothing style was a bit different, a bit hipper and sexier, I suppose. I'd never seen her wear a dress that short before, and my heart began pounding, first with lust, but then with fear as I turned to look at Timothy and Helen, who were spoon feeding each other a sundae and giggling. It made so angry that he was so happy, when I still wasn't. I then forced myself to take a look at Ned; I didn't want to, I didn't want any of those coffined feelings returning, but I had to look.

I shouldn't have looked, though, because he was just more handsome than ever, and it didn't take even a second for me to fall in love with him again. He didn't really look different, but he had changed. He looked…sad. The happiest boy in Springfield looked sad. And I felt that I was somehow responsible. My heart began hurting again.

Then it hit me for the first time that they were all hanging out together. They all must have forgiven Ned for his sin…for my sin. But how? I assumed Ned told them the truth. That he wanted absolutely nothing to do with me, and that the kiss was entirely one-sided. And maybe since I left town, they finally believed him.

'Waylon, what the hell are you looking at, dude?' asked Ruth.

My friends looked worried as I snapped out of my trance and uttered, 'I…I used to know those people.'

I think John noticed the way I was looking at Ned, because he reached for my hand protectively and possessively. 'Old friends of yours?' he asked.

'Some of them, yes,' I answered.

'Well,' Edna began. 'Let's go meet them!' She took hold of my other hand and before I had time to protest, we were bouncing inside the shop, stoned and drunk and face to face with my past."


	19. Chapter 19

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: Thank you all for reading and reviewing! I'm sorry that I haven't been able to get back to each of your reviews individually, but please know that each one means a lot to me, and I hope you continue to read and review. Thank you. :)

CHAPTER NINETEEN:

"It took not a minute for my former friends to see me; however, it took slightly longer for them to recognize me. I hadn't realized just how much my appearance had changed from a year ago until I then saw the initial look of vacuity in Ned's eyes when he looked at me.

I had, a few months prior, exchanged my gargantuan circular glasses that matched up precisely with the size of my eyes for a pair of cooler, smaller, thicker, square frames. I had liked my spiked hair style from my first night with John so much that I now wore it like that every day; my fashion sense had gone from preppy to radical; and of course, I probably looked as drunk and stoned as I felt. It wasn't really a wonder why Ned didn't recognize me immediately, but I still was taken by surprise by his blankness.

It was actually Helen who recognized me firstly. Her oval-shaped eyeballs practically bulged out of her face at the sight of me, and even more at the sight of my hand entangled with John's. She immediately nudged Timothy and directed his gaze to me as well, and of course, Ned and Margery followed suit to find out at what they were staring.

I pulled my hand away from John's instinctively, and I didn't want or turn to see the confused and hurt look he probably gave me afterward. The moment after—just spent staring into the faces those whom I used to spend my life with—was one of stark surrealism. Finally, I spoke, and offered a meek "hello", not knowing what else to do.

They were all silent, and I grew angry that they wouldn't even offer me a measly greeting, but then Ned suddenly rose from his chair, walked over to where I was standing, and embraced me. I was…shocked, to say the least. I had missed hugging him so badly, and from the desperate sadness in his embrace, I knew he had missed it too.

Before I could begin to dread the reactions of Timothy, Helen, and John that were sure to come, Ned ended our contact and resumed his stare, finally speaking: 'Waylon? Is that really you?'

'Yes, it's me. I guess you should be thankful that you didn't just hug a stranger,' I replied, even though I felt like I was now just a much a stranger to Ned as the next guy.

Ned couldn't even smile at my little attempt at humor. 'Waylon...How could you leave like you did? And why did you never call? Your parents were devastated! They've been sick with worry!'

I scoffed. 'Give me a break, Ned. My parents probably hosted the party of the year after discovering my disappearance.'

'You seriously think that? Waylon, they've been heartbroken!'

'Shut the fuck up, Ned! I know you're lying to me! Fuck!' I shouted, my head growing dizzy.

Ned, Timothy, and Helen let out an undivided gasp at my vulgarity and anger. I tried to calm myself, and tried again: 'I mean…Ned…don't lie to me. Why would you say something like you did? You know…you know it could get my hopes up and…lying to me is…my parents, they would never, they'd celebrate, and what do you want by saying that?'

'Waylon, are you drunk?' Ned asked sadly upon hearing my nonsensical rambling.

'So what if I am? You're a…liar, and that's worse, I think.'

Timothy finally stepped up and intercepted, 'And you're a sinning, blasphemy-spouting fag, in addition to being a worthless drunk, so don't act like the victim here.' He then turned to Ned and said, 'Come on, Ned. He can't understand you anyway. Let's leave.'

'I can too understand him, but I don't like what he's selling!' I defended. 'If my parents actually gave a shit about me, they'd have called the…the police, sent out a search party, something! Fuck, you think I'll…believe that they were devastated?' Then, although I knew I really shouldn't have, I decided to provoke them all by adding, 'That's about as fake and pathetic a claim as that of your God existing.'

Timothy was furious, obviously, and I expected a punch or two, but he remained composed and said, 'Waylon, I think you may very well be the devil himself.'

'Oh, yeah? Well, I'd rather be the devil himself and be judged rightly for my sins than be a wrathful God praised by mindless idiots for a compassion and wisdom he doesn't have.'

Now Timothy stepped forward a bit, fists clenched, and Ned was once again in the middle of us. Margery and Helen stood in the background; Helen looking fearful for her beau, and Marge just looking fearful in general. I wondered whom she would be rooting for if Timothy and I were to actually fight. But before I could find out, Ned spoke: 'Please, guys, you don't have to do this. We can just leave, Waylon, and you can have your peace. This is your town, and we'll just leave, that's all. Okay? No fighting.'

'That's all? Don't you want to know what's been going on in my life? Why I left?' I asked.

Ned said, 'I do, but you don't seem inclined to tell me. And I really think that we should leave before anyone gets hurt.'

I shook my head and looked to the ground. 'It's too late for that, Ned.'

Ned stood still beside me, seemingly having much to say but not saying it. Timothy backed away from us, took Helen's hand aggressively, and began to lead her and Margery out the door. He turned back to me once more and said, 'Stay out of Springfield, Smithers. If you know what's good for you, although apparently you don't. But I swear to God Almighty that if you come back, I will personally do God's deed and take you and your demon-infested soul down. I swear I will.'

He then left, with a still scared Helen lagging behind. Margery stood in the doorway, and I suddenly hated more than anything—more than Timothy, more than God—that she was seeing me like this. She looked away and followed her so-called friends.

Only Ned, John, and Edna were left with me. John and Edna had vanished to the background the moment I began talking to Timothy and stayed there, even though he was gone.

Ned said softly, 'Waylon, I know I said we would leave this town, but the truth is that we will be here for a few days for the Academic Bowl Championship. The Bowl is in the town of Harrison…I just thought you should know, in case you want to avoid going there for a while.'

'Thanks.'

'No problem. Um…I guess I should go too, then,' he uttered. 'Unless you _did _want to talk to me.'

I hesitated. More than anything, I wanted and actually needed to talk to Ned, but of course, I couldn't bring myself to tell him the truth. 'No. No, you should leave. Go be with your friends.'

'But you're my friend too, Waylon.'

'No, I'm not. Let's just face it, Ned. You never wanted to be my friend, and…' I took a deep breath before telling the biggest lie I had ever told. 'And you never really were.'"


End file.
